Kings Will Kneel
by Kade Riggs
Summary: Achilles is off to fight in the greatest war of all time at Troy, and meet the only true love he'll ever know. But what will become of his family, including Briseis, once he's gone? Or will they discover that he's not gone at all?
1. The Edge of the Blade

AN: Sorry if spaces get deleted between words. I hate it when that happens.

* * *

Danen had watched from a distance while Achilles practiced with Patroclus. He sat cross legged on a rock, sharpening his sword. He watched just as calmly while Achilles spoke with Odysseus, knowing well what the King of Ithaca wished of his brother.

There was only one reason why kings sought out the young lord of Phtia. They needed him to lead the men, war with them, win for them.

Dane ran the whet stone down the edge of his blade in a long sweep, grinding away the resistance, the dullness, with a patience that came from a lifetime of handling weapons.

Weapons he loved.

_He swore to you._

_You knew he didn't mean it._

It was a time to turn inward, away from thoughts that would interrupt his focus.

Remove the impurities, leave only the sharp edge behind. Focus, sweep, sweep, turn, and begin all over again. This was the way of the sword, of any weapon. Simple, so much simpler than most men ever dreamed.

He finished, wiping the blade with a soft cloth and then sheathed it. He picked up his dagger, only briefly glancing up to notice the tall shadow towering over him.

After some time of standing silence, Achilles sat down before him, on another rock, watching placidly while he cared for the metal in his hands.

"So, what do you think?" he finally asked, almost demanding, but not quite. If nothing else, Achilles knew Danen could outlast him in a battle of silence. He had an iron will, the only one Achilles ever encountered rivaling his own. His older brother knew it was best not to provoke his stubbornness.

Dane barely shook his head, the expression on his face like stone. "I don't know why you waste your time on that fool." His reply was soft, measured.

"I would hardly call Odysseus a fool, little brother. Wily, perhaps. Anything but fool." Achilles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands dangling between his knees. Danen recognized the thoughtful expression on his face; he was curious what his little brother would say next and, cocked his head slightly when Dane finally looked up from his work.

"I meant _that_ fool," Dane corrected, using his knife to motion to the place where Patroclus practiced his assigned drills with a wooden sword. "I don't know why you waste your time on him."

Achilles almost smiled, but managed to hide it behind a fist, pretending to clear his throat. He forced his eyes to become almost stern as he gazed at the boy. "He is our cousin, Danen, you know it is our obligation to teach him all we can. If possible, all we know. Who are we to judge a man based on what he can, and cannot do?"

"You're only shortening his life by letting him think he knows how to fight, Achilles. Do him a favor and send him to become a priest of the gods. If you don't, he'll only get himself killed—and he'll probably take you with him," Dane stated, as though the idea were a fact that had already been proven to be true.

"Oh, stop it, Dane. You're getting as bad as mother with your prophesies and visions."

Danen didn't even pause in continuing his work. "It is not prophesy that concerns me, it is the path I envision as the future. You put the idea of glory into his head, and I imagine all the horrible places such knowledge will take the poor fool. Fate has a love for irony; you of all people should know this."

"Will you just once answer the question I have asked of you, instead of leading the conversation around in circles, little brother? I came here to ask you what you think of going to war with Troy."

Danen young man sighed, at last putting away his knife. He had a tendency to talk with his hands at times, and holding a weapon while doing so never benefited the health of those around him. "Have I mentioned yet today that I think you were dropped on your head as a child, Achilles? Your obsession with being remembered through the ages, gaining your immortality, it is ridiculous! I said that fate and irony are constantly part of a great love affair, and I meant it. You never stop to consider that, you, possibly the greatest warrior in the known world, will in all likelihood be remembered as the giant felled by the sword of a dwarf. Yes, _your_ name will be immortalized for _all _time. In a thousand years men will still be _laughing_ at you! All the sons of Achilles will beg and plead to be spared your legacy, for they will be shamed by it. That is my prophesy. See if it does not come to pass!"

"And which part do you fear more, brother? My impending death, or the shame that it will cause my sons?" the great warrior questioned, allowing his jaw to come to rest on one fist, taking on the look of the great thinker. Only with the small difference that he appeared morbidly amused by the course of the conversation.

Dark eyes considered him. A rare privilege. It wasn't often that Danen afforded eye contact to another being. "Kings will never kneel before soldiers, Ilios. You are the most powerful man alive, and yet never have I seen a king tremble in fear before you." Danen's tone was soft, respectful. Rarely did he call his brother by the childhood nickname he'd bestowed on him, before he was able to pronounce 'Achilles'. Ilios, or 'the sun,' was the best he'd been able to do before he reached his fifth or sixth year of life. He used it now, because whether he agreed with his brother or not, this was Achilles' dream. What he believed he was born to do.

Achilles stood, once again casting his long shadow over the rocks surrounding them. "It is not fear that I wish to hold over them, Danen, it is respect. Perhaps I am not that man, the one they will prostrate themselves before. Perhaps that man will be you," he suggested softly.

Dane scoffed, rolling his eyes. Yet another fool in a family of fools. "Kings only have respect for the gods. It is not respect that drives them to worship before statues and temples; it is the desire to appease, to gain favor. The respect of a king _is_ his fear. Have I taught you so little you don't even know that?" Danen teased, all the while keeping his face like stone. Only his eyes gave him away. They took on a certain, spark, at such times.

Achilles finally did allow himself to chuckle, marveling at the brilliance on display before him. It was a good thing he'd been born a warrior. Otherwise he might've actually been expected to match his younger sibling in wit.

"So, am I to take it that you would not be terribly disappointed if I were to go?" he asked at last, as another spell of silence washed over them.

Dane smiled, but on a face that wasn't accustomed to smiling, it appeared as something of a grimace. "Are you asking me if I would forgive you? If you left after swearing you were through with war?"

"Yes, Dane. I'm asking you if you would forgive me."

Danen nodded, letting out a long, cleansing breath. He looked up at his brother, wondering just for an instant if this would be the last conversation they would ever have. "No, Achilles, I would never forgive you. If you leave, and if you die, you know what will be brought upon me. I will become lord of Phtia, and it will be up to me to fend off the wolves who will come for everything I have. Including mother. Are you willing to die knowing that?"

Ever so softly, Achilles touched the shoulder of the young man who had so much faith in his brother's strength, and not nearly enough in his own. "I can die knowing that because I know one other thing as well. There will be a day when Danen of Phtia will shine brighter than all the stars in the night sky. They will call you the greatest son of the gods, Dane. Who else on this earth would be more qualified to fight off the wolves when I am gone, than you?"

Danen shrugged off his brother's hand, standing to stare him almost straight in the eye, an angry fire burning bright in his gaze. "I'm not like you!" he growled low. "I'd rather have my brother than all the glory in the world."

Sharp blue eyes watched as the youth stalked off to once again be alone. They didn't soften in the least, until the boy was far out of view.


	2. Gods and Prophecy

* * *

Odysseus paused in passed the entryway to a small garden present upon the lands that made up Achilles' home. Danen, the little one, stood alone on the painted tiles, holding his sword at the ready. It was near dusk, and judging by the lathered sweat on the boy's bare chest, he'd been at his exercises for hours. 

The king of Ithaca was hardly surprised. During the many conversations he'd had with Achilles at sea, and in tents late at night on the fronts of great battles, he'd heard a good deal about the warrior's pride. This younger lord of Phtia. Achilles had mentioned more than once Danen's obsession with perfecting his skills as a fighter put every other warrior in Pthia to shame. He was a quandary his older brother had spent nearly half a lifetime pondering, a puzzle that might never be solved. Now he was sixteen, and judging by his concentration, his control of himself, Odysseus could see the boy was on the verge of becoming a man.

"Ho, Danen of Phtia," the king greeted from the entryway.

The boy neither acknowledged, nor paused from his training rituals. He continued to hack and slash the air, his movements sometimes so quick, they would be difficult for an untrained eye to follow.

Just as Odysseus began to wonder if he should attempt to address the boy again, or give him his peace, Danen turned, coming to the end of the pattern he'd followed and sending a previously concealed knife flying fast in the king's direction. Before Odysseus could react, the small blade stuck deep into a wicker basket only a short distance from him, hanging on a hook at eye level, beside an assortment of other gardening tools. Judging by the sound made upon the impact, Odysseus was quite certain the strike would've been lethal. He was further convinced when he needed both hands to remove the knife from the basket's side.

Odysseus nodded. "Impressive," he remarked, weighing the small object in one hand, testing its balance. "You take good care of your weapons."

"I care for them, they care for me," Dane half-snapped, annoyed with both the interruption and the company.

Odysseus noted the boy's distain, but hardly blamed him. After all, he'd come to take Danen's beloved brother away from him. "Ah, I see, you are angry with me," he said, sounding understanding, calm.

Dane picked up his sword's scabbard, and slammed the blade hard inside. "I have plenty of reason to carry a grudge against you for the rest of my days, Odysseus. Before you came here, my brother didn't even consider going to Troy. Now he will die there," the boy growled, turning to leave his place of solitude for another. Amazing how difficult it was becoming to find a little peace in his own home.

"How do you know he will die there, Danen?" Odysseus asked, his maddening question hanging in the air, giving the boy pause. "Have you seen it? Have the gods told you it will be so?"

Dane turned quickly on his heel to face his opponent, a scowl firmly etched onto his normally smooth features. "I have no use for gods or prophecy!" He barely checked himself from shouting, and that was only because he didn't want an audience. Surly at least one servant stood outside the garden, listening. Better to attract as little attention as possible. That way his mother was less likely to hear he'd once again denied the existence of the gods.

Odysseus smiled, but it was sad, nearly pained. He could hear the pain this child's heart suffered in his harsh words. His own son was much younger than Achilles' brother, and at that instant he wondered if Telemachus would miss him, as Danen would miss Achilles.

There was a fair chance that Telemachus would grow up with no memory of his father, should he never return. It was a possibility Odysseus had not yet considered, and his heart broke a little for Danen at that instant in time as he realized it would be much harder for the boy who remembered the object of his loss, and suffered from the pain of that memory all the rest of his days. Yes, it would be harder for Danen. Unlike Telemachus, Danen was not his mother's only son, nor was he her favorite. It was known throughout the land that while Thetis seemed to care for both her sons, Achilles was the apple of her eye. Danen, by comparison, was treated almost like an adopted son, as if he were not truly his mother's own flesh.

Dane grew weary of waiting for the man to stop gazing at him like a lost soul, and decided to continue the conversation, even if it was incredibly one-sided. He pointed his sheathed sword at the king in accusatory fashion. "You knew if you came here you could convince him to go. You, with your stories of glory and being remembered until the end of days. You and my mother are the same! You would see Achilles die so your names will be remembered in infamy! If there were all-powerful gods watching, and they meant to bring any justice to this earth, surly they would recognize your selfishness and strike you both down!

"He spoke with mother today, down by the water, while she was gathering shells to make a necklace for him to take to war. Do you know what she told him? She said she knew they would come for him before he was even born. She knows how he grabs onto the things she says about his fate, his destiny, and he never lets them go! The two of you have conspired to sentence him to death!"

"Does that makes us the selfish ones? We would allow him to go, to leave you, so he might achieve the thing he's dreamed of all his life?" Odysseus asked, his words nearly striking the breath from the boy's lungs.

Dane narrowed his eyes, recovering himself quickly as a rare ire gripped his entire being. He stood nearly breathless, in agony because his heart was so heavy, already breaking under the strain of his loss. Only his anger made his mouth run wild, his voice growing louder, and more desperate with each word. "Only in the madness of war do dreams overshadow a man's responsibilities to his family. Greece does not need my brother, but I do! Don't you see, great king of Ithaca? Achilles is all I have; he is all this world ever gave me. I call him brother, but to myself I also call him father!"

"What of your mother? Is she nothing to you?" the King asked, still playing Hades, whispering harsh truths into the ears of mortals so they would twist and squirm in their skins.

Dane threw his sword aside, sending it clattering across the tile until it hit the wall, still staring directly into the eyes of the king before him without fear, without grace, and without respect. "Fine, take him! But when he is gone, do not come to me looking for your next hero! I will never take up your mantel; I will never take up another sword. I will burn this palace to the ground before I will ever shed the blood of another man in war!" he screamed, and in his rage he glowed exactly as Achilles did in the midst of battle. His dark eyes burned bright, his sun-kissed skin shone a deep bronze.

In spite of Danen's oath that he would never kill as he was bred to, Odysseus felt a sliver of fear enter his soul as he foresaw the possible consequences of angering the child demi-god standing before him. He'd seen rage many times before, but never to such degree or intensity. When Danen became a man, there was no telling how Greece and all the rest of the world might suffer under his fury. It was best to hope that the warlord inside the boy stayed dormant forever.

If it was ever roused, the gods help whomever wandered into its path.

These were Odysseus' thoughts all that night, and even the next morning as he prepared to set sail, Achilles at his side.


	3. Wisdom

AN: Sheesh, that sure took a while. I think I wrote this chapter a long time ago and forgot to post it. I think I do tend to slip out of the POVs of my characters in this a little, but thus far I don' t think it's been a huge problem. Let me know if it is. Gracias.

* * *

"What are you thinking, my love?" Briseis asked, stroking the cheek of the god-like man lying beside her in silence. 

Achilles shifted on the skins that made up their bed, turning further onto his side. The moonlight shining through the flaps of the tent the two of them shared, outlining every cut and curve of his musculature. To his lover's eyes, he glowed a tint of blue that made him look like a living marble statue of Apollo.

His powerful hand softly came to rest on her hip, rubbing lazily over warm, bare skin as he considered his response. In spite of having been with her for several months already, at times he remained reserved with her. She was a Trojan, after all—a member of the people he battled against.

Then again, it seemed most days he battled with everyone _but_ her.

He smiled a little in the darkness. "I am thinking of my little brother, Danen," he whispered at last. "Tomorrow marks his eighteenth year of life."

She laid one small hand on his broad chest. "You didn't tell me you have a brother, Achilles. Do you miss him?" she asked cautiously, looking up to shyly meet his gaze. Achilles stared beyond her, as though she weren't even there.

"Yes, I miss him. My father died by the time he came into the world, so I took it upon myself to name him. I called him Danen, taken from the name Damae. It means 'tame one.' A poor choice on my part. In certain ways I gravely misjudged his future demeanor.

"The last I spoke with him, we quarreled. He wished for me to stay in Greece. He was convinced I would die if I came here to fight, and he'd never see me again. My mother said much the same, but she accepted my fate long ago. In her mind, I've already burned on a pyre in all the glory that is my destiny. Dane doesn't believe in glory, or destiny."

Briseis smiled softly. "He sounds very wise, for a boy his age. Too bad his brother doesn't possess the same wisdom," she teased mildly, her low tone soft and soothing.

Achilles tilted his head absently to one side and then the other, cracking his neck. "Wise, wise... Yes, I do believe Dane is wise for a boy his age; but I doubt very much you would like him."

Her smile faded, her forehead creased with concern. "Why not? Would he hold prejudice against me for being a citizen of Troy, or for stealing your attention..."

"No," he cut her off, "it's much simpler than that. He doesn't believe in the gods, and is quite adamant about it when pressed. You being a former priestess of Apollo, I can't see a peaceful relationship developing, you see?" he opined, stating the facts in a dull tone.

Briseis' mouth dropped open. "He openly denies the gods and has reached adulthood without being struck down? How? Why would they allow him to live?"

"Because he has committed no crime. The thing you have to understand about Danen is he's far more like a mule than he appears on the outside. He hasn't a bit of cruelty in him, but he does possess the stubbornness due to a hundred men. I wouldn't be surprised if he could drive Hades himself mad with that silent treatment of his. _Apollo knows_ he's pushed me to the brink of insanity with it. Mother gave up on him when he was a child."

Briseis' large dark eyes drifted down to his chest. "She gave up on him? What do you mean, she gave up on him? What sort of mother..."

"Gave up is the wrong term. She turned him over to me, because she couldn't deal with him. He was sickly when he was young. She didn't allow him to be trained in the arts of war as I had been until he was almost too old to be taught. Instead, she attempted to turn him into a philosopher, a priest even. I don't doubt for a second the greatest reason for Dane's lack of faith is the fact that if mother told him one more story about the great, fearsome gods, he would've taken up one of my daggers and turned it on himself. For a long while he abhorred our mother, couldn't stand to be in the same room with her."

"Being your apprentice suited him better?" she asked, smiling a little. His tale amused her.

Achilles nodded, a bit of pride shining in his eyes. "Yes, it certainly did suit him better. He rose brilliantly to the occasion. If I had stayed to be sure he continued with his training, he might've surpassed me one day."

"Surely not! You're just being modest," she teased, scooting closer in order to get under his arm.

Achilles sighed, pulling her tighter into his embrace. "No, I am not being modest. He has certain advantages I doubt I'll ever overcome."

"Such as?" she asked, looking up at him, the tease still present in her question.

He chuckled. "For one thing, by the time I left him two years ago, he still hadn't been with a woman. He believed I became a slave to my desires, and checked himself severely when it came to pleasure. Many days he'd been training for hours by the time I stumbled out of bed." Achilles paused for a moment, smirking at the memories. "To hear myself describe him, I'd think he was like Agamemnon. Respect for no one but himself, and a fool with too much faith in his own power. Thinking on it like this, I would say he's very much like your cousin, Briseis. Hector would've made a far better brother to Danen than I ever will."

"Are you sure I would not like this brother of yours, Achilles? From what you say of him, I believe I would like him very much. Perhaps, one day, you will take me away from this camp and introduce me? So I may pass judgment for myself?" she asked. It was an old question. One that she'd meant to ask for weeks. How much longer would they stay? Achilles hadn't picked up a sword to fight in some time.

He released her, but not suddenly, not in anger. He turned and sat up—standing so he could stretch the ill-used muscles in his arms and legs. She watched—her head propped up on her palm—as he stalked their small tent, seemingly tense about something she'd said.

"I have wondered about the timing of our departure. Considering I am supposed to die here, I have seen very little combat for many months. Part of my reluctance is an argument with my conscience. My brother swore he wouldn't forgive me if I chose to set sail for Troy. I made an oath to him I was finished with fighting, and broke it by coming here. The last thing he said to me was, 'I am not like you, Ilios. I would rather have my brother than all the glory in the world.' Those words haunt my sleep. I've tried to push them out of mind, but these last few days it's been impossible. I am starting to believe my attachment to him went deeper than that of a brother. Perhaps I miss Dane in the way Odysseus misses his son.

"It is strange, because when he was born I told myself I'd never allow such attachments to grow in my heart for him, or for any other woman, or child. I wanted nothing to interfere with my purpose in life."

Briseis nodded slowly, as if she understood. She thought she did, but as was typical, she found many of Achilles' underlying motives difficult to fathom. "Why does he call you 'Ilios?' Is that the name your mother gave you, when you were a boy?" she asked, hoping to calm the great warrior with a slight change of subject.

Achilles laughed, genuinely laughed. "No, no one calls me that but Dane. He couldn't pronounce my name when he was a baby. When he was learning to speak, he was fascinated by the heavens. I'm sure they must've seemed enormous to him, since he was such a small child, yet he was never afraid. He loved to look at the sky, and somehow in his mind he associated me with the sun. I believe the color of my hair did it. His is black, as are his eyes. The difference seemed to strike him at a young age."

Seeing that he was in a better mood, Briseis motioned him back to bed when his gaze settled upon her. Achilles complied, seeming to have lost some of his anxiety to his pacing. She kissed him, further easing his tension. Yet, knowing him as she did, she found it never completely left him the entire night. 


	4. Crumbling Walls

AN: I'm really pumped about the reviews I've been getting for this story. Unfortunately I'ma little stuck right now. I need to build a bridge between this point and the part of the story that comes just after the movie ends. What should I include that wouldn't be redundant? I know there's one scene I'm going to have to tweak a little, but is there anything else I shouldexplore before Achilles takes an arrow to the heel? Anyway, sorry for the wait, and the long AN. I'll try to get up another chapter in a couple weeks during break. I've got a crazy midterm sched this semester and it seems like I'm busy all the time. There's never any time to write! Grr...

* * *

After the third dirty look Patroclus shot him over breakfast, Achilles lowered his fork, unable to ignore his cousin's displeasure any longer. 

"You have issue with me, Patroclus?" he asked, piercing blue eyes burning into those of his relative. The rest of the men continued to eat, seeming unaware of the trouble brewing between their lords.

The boy put his plate down, still glaring. "Greeks are dying, and we sit idly by, watching their destruction. Why do we not fight for our country, Achilles? Why do we not fight the war we came to this place to win?"

The golden warrior considered him gravely, a checked fire burning deep within his eyes. "You are not ready for battle, little cousin, and I fight the wars I choose. I wish my name remembered for all time, but not if it means being remembered for sacking Troy at Agamemnon's command. Hector will be heralded for a thousand years as a hero, while I shall be called the blood thirsty dog of a king whose greed knew no bounds," he spat, glancing to his right at Eudorus, his lieutenant, and finding the man exceedingly preoccupied by his meal.

Patroclus appeared to hear his answer and consider it, but his eyes only narrowed further. "If Danen were here, you would allow _him_ to fight."

The scraping of spoons against plates ceased and a deadly silence settled over the small group. Never had the men witnessed _anyone_ challenge Achilles so and live. It probably came as a shock to them when Achilles' lips turned upward in a mischievous smirk.

"If Danen were here, do you think he would've possessed the patience for a war this long? After a month or two I could've sent him in to speak with Hector and Paris, and before the sun set that day they would've come forth on their knees, begging for surrender, unable to stand one more hour of his torturous mind games. Or perhaps I would've sat him down outside the wall, and waited while he willed them to collapse in upon themselves. I image that would've taken him a good week, but eventually they'd of come around to seeing things his way," he chuckled, shaking his head and picking up his fork.

The men laughed along with him, remembering well the stubbornness Achilles spoke of in his younger brother. Patroclus alone seemed unappreciative of the joke. "So send me to Troy to speak with Hector! Sit me in front of the walls so I might bend them with my mind! I don't care; just let me do something, Achilles! I grow old waiting and doing nothing day after day."

Achilles chewed and swallowed, picking at his remaining food. Finally he nodded. "Yes, you're right. If Dane had come and wished to fight, he would fight. That I cannot deny."

"Then why not me?" Patroclus pleaded, leaning forward in his earnest to be heard. "I'm four years his senior! I've trained with you for years, I'm ready!"

"No. You're not ready. You speak of growing old, but you are indeed still very much a young man, and thus far untainted. I won't have your death on my conscience."

"But you'd have your own brother's? Why? Is his life somehow worth less than mine?"

The great Achilles bowed his head, his forehead creasing with frustration. The lives of these two boys weighed nearly equal in his mind. Patroclus because of his light, respect, and sense of duty. Dane? Better to not think of it. He never allowed the thought to cross his mind.

"Honestly, I doubt my brother would've cared enough to ask my permission," he responded, the smile slowly returning to his face. "If I'd refused, he probably would've gone and died just to spite me."

At last Patroclus relented, if only for the time being, and reluctantly returned the smile, picking up his cup. "That I do believe," he said softly before taking a drink.

Even as things quickly settled back to normal, Achilles knew the battle between himself and his cousin remained far from over.

* * *

He sent Briseis to speak with his brooding cousin the evening after their worst fight yet. She went without complaint, but not without reservations. 

She found Patroclus sitting alone on a rock made bare in the low tide. She recognized it as one she and Hector played on as children.

"My cousin sent you," he said, just loud enough so she could hear him over the crashing surf ebbing slowly up the beach.

She smiled, crossing her arms against the chill of the incoming wind. "Of course he did. He cares deeply for you, even if he cannot say the words himself."

"So he sends you, a woman of Troy, to say the words for him? What a disappointment."

"Yes, what a disappointment. Even the great Achilles is fallible. The earth will surely crumble, and the sun will fall from the sky," she teased gently.

She earned a small smile from the boy, and a glance from his beautiful blue eyes.

"I apologize," he said, picking up a stone and tossing it absently toward the surf. "I'm very troubled at the moment. I'm thinking of a course of action that will either bring me glory through the centuries, or a place among the greatest dunces of all time."

"Oh, really? What course of action would that be, Patroclus?"

"I was going to walk up to Achilles and slap him across the face, but then I decided on something less drastic. Do you think he would kill me, if I struck him?"

Briseis returned his small smile. "No, I don't think he'd kill you. Spank you, perhaps..."

The young man laughed, and she smiled at the sound. For someone so young, Patroclus had an amazing voice. He suffered from none of the embarrassing squeaks her cousins had endured at his age.

She'd come to share Achilles' love for his cousin. It shocked her days later to see the Myrmidons return to the beach without him, claiming his death.

When no body was produced, she tried to persuade Achilles to go search for Patroclus, to ensure Eudorus and the other Myrmidons hadn't been deceived by some trick of Agamemnon's.

Her efforts were in vein. 


	5. Mourn then Live

AN: Pretty big time jump, I know. I just didn't seeany point in reliving much of the movie.

* * *

Dane stood alone on the highest rock of his land, looking out over the sea's deep blue horizon. The news came with the first wave of men returning from war. Troy at last defeated, Patroclus slain by Hector, Hector killed by Achilles, Achilles by Paris' arrow. His heel. A man of no warrior stature killed the giant called Achilles by shooting him through the heel.

Not quite the way his brother planned his remembrance.

"I can never say I told you so, Achilles," the dark featured young man whispered to the wind. "But that pales beside the fact that I can never say I forgive you. I didn't, and now I never will."

The breeze sharpened, tearing at the golden locks squeezed tightly between his fingers. One from Achilles, one from his mother. She'd died months ago of grief, seeming to sense the instant her child breathed his last. Danen released them, watching them fly off and disappear into the ocean. He bowed his head, taking moment to mourn for his brother, his father... When he looked up to see the ship carrying Pthia's men home, he braced himself, preparing to carry on alone through the oncoming storm.

* * *

"She asked to return with us," Eudorus told his prince apologetically. "I could see no reason to refuse her. Especially with..." he paused, unable to continue.

Dane stood, stiff from the hour of sitting on Achilles' throne while the leader of Pthia's warriors gave his report of the war. He felt uncomfortable in that place and had no desire to remain in that chair any longer than necessary.

"Send her in," he said, descending the few stairs to where Eudorus knelt, touching the man's shoulder so he might rise and stand next to his new prince.

The doors opened and a young woman entered, her head bowed almost in shame. She seemed equally opposed to meeting him as Dane felt about the whole subject of becoming king of his domain—and thus forced to deal with such complicated matters.

She knelt at his feet, paying him respect not out of fear, but with grim determination. "My lord, please do not banish me from your land. I offer you whatever I may in exchange for a place to live in peace. I will become your most loyal servant if only you grant me this one request."

Dane eyed the woman, a bit out of sorts. She didn't appear the type Achilles preferred, yet Eudorus reported she'd shared his tent for years. "What does royalty know of servitude in Troy, lady Briseis?" he asked, keeping his tone skeptical. He would force her to give him reason to allow her to stay, otherwise who knew what stories would go forth among the ranks of his men. They'd say he didn't possess the strength to lead.

"I shall learn quickly, my lord."

"Why should I give sanctuary to the cousin of my brother's killer? Besides being a matter of principle, I need good reason to allow even a single Trojan to enjoy scraps from my table. Before I know it a whole nation of displaced men, women, and children will be at my door asking for the same mercy. I've heard a number of the Trojans escaped Troy through hidden tunnels leading to the mountains. Why not go with them, live with your kin, and help them rebuild anew?"

"Because," she started, almost wincing at the prospect of what she must say, her matted hair falling in her face. "Because, my lord, I carry the child of Achilles. Even with my cousin's protection my son would've been slain at birth. Your brother told me once you are very wise. I dared to chance you might grant me mercy, at least until your nephew is born."

Dane's dark eyes narrowed slightly. He felt the urge to turn to Eudorus and ask him what to do, what Achilles would've done—but he knew he must decide alone and without hesitation.

At last he leaned down and took her arm, lifting her up so he could better see her. She looked thin. The bones of her wrists stood out in sharp relief, her cheeks hollow—pale skin gave her the appearance of a ghost. Yet there appeared to be life inside of her when he looked hard enough for it—small but growing in her middle. He didn't know if the pregnancy or the voyage had taken its toll on her body, but he knew no healthy child would come from a woman so malnourished.

"Ready her a bath, food, clothes," he ordered grimly. "I won't have the mother of my brother's son starving to death. Attend to her immediately, grant her any request within reason." When he turned to go, nodding at Eudorus to follow, the waiting servants snapped into action, whisking Briseis off to be cared for as royalty.

"The men like her," Eudorus commented when they were alone, walking through the halls. "She's good to them, sews their clothes, laughs at their jokes. She's faded, the life's gone out of her since Lord Achilles died. I don't believe she got the chance to tell him he'd fathered a child. When she asked to go with us, to save our Lord's son, not a single man objected."

"Then I don't suppose there'd be much objection if I married her, would there?" Dane asked morbidly, his question rhetorical, his features hard.

"Does my lord intend to marry the girl?"

Dane almost growled to himself. He didn't know _what_ to do. He thought he'd managed well as prince up until that morning. Suddenly it seemed like he'd done nothing at all but lord over the affairs of a bunch of women, children, and invalids. Now the tests truly began. Now the men had returned from Troy, and their affairs would require a far sharper mind, and an even stronger fist, lest they take everything from him.

Achilles trusted Eudorus, he knew that, but so far Dane could bring himself to trust no one. With Agamemnon dead the power structure in Greece would soon shift,dramatically.

"How many know of Achilles' death?" he asked after a time. His feet took him to the very rocks where he and his brother used to train in peace time. Eudorus had followed, never giving any indication of tiring, although surely he desired to go to his family.

"Every soldier who lived to return home has heard of my lord's death," the captain responded, his voice calm, carefully unhurried.

"How many believe it?" Dane asked, and this time his advisor stopped. He turned to gauge the reaction of the older man, deciding that the look on his face was satisfactory. Shock, but yet a tiny bit of wonder, just a second of hesitation. Achilles seemed immortal to his men, the best warrior to grace a battlefield in a thousand years. Maybe the son of a god.

If Eudorus could chance to believe for just a second, Greece could be fooled for months, perhaps years.

"We left his body where it fell, in the city, the arrow through his heel. We had no time to drag an extra man from that place, it burned too quickly. On the pyre, we laid a warrior with some likeness. I thought it might anger you, my lord, and I take full responsibility..."

Dane nodded. In Eudorus' admission alone lay plenty of fuel for speculation. The warriors themselves might even believe. "Perfect. Spread whatever rumor you wish to explain why Achilles might've survived his untimely death. Be creative, make up multiple scenarios. Some outrageous, some plausible. Don't mention Lady Briseis, but do mention any other lady who might've caught a warrior's fancy and saved him from destruction. Mention the wife of Zeus if you think it'll help. The legend must not die, Eudorus. If it does, there will be no gods to help us when they come to fight."


	6. A Single Soul

AN: looks sheepish I guess it's been a while, huh? Thanks so much to anyone who reviewed the previous chapters. I really don't treat you half as well as you deserve, but I'll try to do better;-)

* * *

He did guess one thing right about Briseis. She proved no use as a servant. However, given small tasks in a role as royalty, she proved quite useful.

Dane had no skill solving disputes between his people. Often they sought audiences with him so their cases could be heard and resolved by their prince. Matters of religion especially irked him. Yet after his mother died, no one else seemed qualified enough to hear them. Briseis, however, had a particular knack for such diplomatic work. With her background as a priestess, she once again brought high authority back to matters of the gods in Pthia.

Danen watched her, admiring the woman and her grace with people. Although he sat at her side to ensure she didn't overstep her bounds, he also listened in order to learn from her. His silence never seemed to come across as a rescinding of his authority. Briseis tactfully gave the impression that, if consulted, his word on any issue would be final.

Still, no matter how much easier she managed to make his job, he still found ruling nothing short of tiresome.

Ah, the tedium of patriarchy.

The worst part remained the loneliness. Having reached his early twenties, Dane found his bed increasingly cold at night. Often he found himself slipping out of his room in the middle of the night and wandering the hallways, candle in hand. He looked over the artifacts left from the wars Achilles fought in before his death at Troy. The items gave him comfort in his youth, but none now that he needed a man at his side to teach him. He found no wisdom in mere objects.

"Do you miss him?"

He whirled, finding Briseis standing behind him, just outside the door of her room. Dane forced his whole body to relax, regaining his composure. "Of course I miss him. He knew how to take rule this land and defend it. Achilles took care of everything—even me."

She smiled sadly, soft steps bringing her to his side. Together they took a moment to admire a brace of swords, each with its own story of battle to tell. "He spoke of you often," she said, taking a step further down the hall, her eyes wandering over the various items. "Sometimes with the utmost affection, and sometimes with regret. Apparently you told him you'd never forgive him if he left for Troy. The sentiment haunted him until his dying day."

"Not enough to turn the nose of his ship into the wind and sail home, apparently," he opined, bitterness seeping into his voice.

"So even to this day you do not forgive him?" she asked, keeping judgment from her question.

Dane reached out to touch a golden shield, leaving a small smudge on its rim. "How could I? Ilios never asked for my forgiveness, never let me know he desired it. He spent the last of his months here training our cousin for war. I told him Patroclus would get him killed, but he never listened to me. The fool listened to mother, but never to me."

A moment of silence passed between them while they walked. Briseis broke it first, "He killed my cousin. Hector. You would've loved Hector. I certainly did. Hector mistook Patroclus for Achilles and struck him down in battle. Achilles went to the walls of the city and challenged him to a fight in retribution. He butchered my cousin and dragged his body back to the camp, defiling it. I never felt anger toward a man in all my days like I felt toward him that night. He didn't ask for my forgiveness once his rage passed, but he desired it privately. If I hadn't known him so well, I never would've realized that."

Dane nodded, understanding the parallel she drew for him. "I see. Tell me, lady. If you could bring one man back from the dead, would it be your cousin, or my brother?"

She smiled blithely, taking his arm as she led on toward the kitchen. "It's an easy choice, little brother. I could bring them both back because I do believe they shared the same soul."

He nodded, not quite understanding, but taking her word for it.

"There was only one defining difference between them. Hector loved the people of Troy enough to die for them a thousand times. Achilles had no such attachments to a country or cause. He loved a small number of people with such passion that it hurt him at times. When Patroclus died, your brother became capable of killing a man in cold blood. In that, Troy was lucky."

"How so?" Dane asked, not following her logic. His brow furrowed with the question.

She squeezed his arm, looking over at him knowingly. "Because if you had been the one wearing his armor that day, I do believe Achilles would've taken the entire city by the sword. The blood of one mere man could not have quenched his thirst. Only an entire people would've sufficed. I think he loved you so much, he would've killed for you a _hundred_ thousand times, Danen of Pthia. That is more than I can say for any other man, and perhaps for any other woman, in the world."


	7. Interuption

AN: I'm going to tweak the movie a little bit in the future in order to make things more interesting. When I started I didn't really intend to make this a complete AU, but, well...that's how the cookie crumbles I guess.

* * *

A number of months after Briseis gave birth to Achilles' son, Dane brought priests and other officials into his home and had them announce the boy's mother the wife of Achilles and his son the heir of the throne. Much ritual and ceremony took place for the sake of tradition and several days of feasting ensued.

Kings from surrounding countries sent representatives to witness the events, many of them eligible daughters with the hopes of snagging Danen's affections. One guest Danen found particularly interesting was the son of Odysseus. Telemanchus.

The boy had been escorted by a number of his father's guards, many of whom quickly became involved in catching up with the Myrmidons of Pthia. The warriors of Ithaca had served closely with Achilles' men during their years at Troy. They had much to speak of after nearly two years of separation. So Telemanchus sat alone at the table, looking almost as bored as Dane felt watching members of royalty from other lands drink and laugh and drink more. Taking pity on the boy, he deftly called his attention to him, waving him over to sit at his right hand.

"Hello, Lord Danen," the boy greeted politely, having learned his manners well from his mother.

Dane smiled at him sympathetically. "Ho, young prince. What brings you to my table so late? You look a little young for wine and chasing girls."

The boy simply shrugged. "I'm thirteen years of age. I'm old enough to drink, I merely choose to decline. My mother asked me to come here to represent Ithaca. I believed she wished to get me away from our palace for a few days."

"Why would your mother do that?" Dane asked, the gears turning behind his dark eyes. Why would a mother send her son away from his home to attend such an event? Ithaca and Pthia had remained allies for decades. Any representative, even a goat herder from their land would've sufficed, especially with Odysseus presumed lost at sea.

"Because I get so angry with the men who force their visits on us. Princes and lords from other countries, all after my mother and our lands. It's been some time since Ithaca's warriors returned from Troy. My father's ship is still missing. Secretly, I fear the worst," the boy admitted, his pale features becoming even more drawn and hollowed in the firelight.

Dane nodded. He'd heard that Odysseus had not been seen alive since the day his ship raised anchor to sail home. Secretly, he felt no pity in his heart for the king of Ithaca, but he felt a great deal for the son he left behind. Telemanchus hardly remembered his father; he was so young when the war began.

"I suppose you are old enough to drink then," he acknowledged, his tone changing so he spoke to the boy as an equal.

Telemanchus' blue eyes never rose from the table top in front of him. "Become my ally, Lord Danen?" he whispered, a bit of begging in his tone.

"I am already your ally, Prince of Ithaca," he replied softly. "But some battles must be fought alone. Unless some other country declares war on Ithaca, I cannot publicly rush to your aid. You're old enough, you understand this? That I have my own lot to defend?"

The boy nodded. "You fear that there will be unrest, even among your own people. Some will not look with favor on your escape from patriarchy. They will not want a Trojan for a king."

The adeptness of this child nearly astounded Danen. Then again, hadn't he always strove to surprise Achilles with his brilliance at that age?

Dane allowed one of his hands to come to rest on Telemanchus' shoulder. "We are a pair to recon with, you and I. We became burdened too young with responsibilities too great to bear. Our fathers and older brothers rushed away to lose their lives in battle and we have both suffered for their recklessness. We are the successors of giants, young one. I believe it says a great deal that we have managed to outlive them all.

"I believe it says that nothing on this earth might defeat us, so long as we have our wits to guide us."

* * *

He thought deeply on the matter of Telemanchus' ordeal all that evening, and even the next morning, during his nephew's ceremony. The boy's mother named him Aetos, the eagle of Pthia. The priests bestowed their blessings in front of the masses while Dane sat on his throne, bored half to death.

He had yet to accept the life of his brother's son. One day he'd have to face the demons that haunted him in the form of a strange sort of guilt that rested inside him whenever he thought of Ilios. The day had yet to come, and until it did he resigned to watch over his brother's family and wait—offering nothing more of himself than protection against earthly evils.

Though he tried, he found little comfort in their company—in anyone's company...

Perhaps he still mourned his loss, even though it seemed enough time had passed.

The priest's words interrupted his thoughts, "Should any man contest with this child's right to the throne, let him speak at this moment in time..."

"I contest the child's right!" a powerful voice boomed from the entrance to the hall.

Stunned gasps escaped the people as all turned to see the man who'd spoken so, and the army trudging through the doors behind him. The powerful, blond haired man stood tall and brave—not a single man who followed him stood by his side. All of them were lesser beings, standing behind their leader.

He resembled Achilles to no small degree and hushed whispers ran through the crowd. Had their lord returned to protect his people?

_Not likely, _Dane thought to himself, rising from his seat to meet the stare of this man who dared defy him in the walls of his own court. The man wore armor, his helmet held loosely in one hand. Dane wore nothing more than light cotton clothing.

"Pyrrhus of Lycomedes," he said, naming the intruder without proper respect.

The man with blonde hair opened his arms, smiling falsely. "The one and only. Aren't you going to welcome me home, little brother?"

Dane only just checked himself from reaching for the sword he kept beside him at all times. It leaned against the arm of his chair, singing to him, begging for this man's blood. He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his taunt face working while a storm gathered behind his dark features.

"You are not welcome in my house," he growled, catching the movements of his men out of the corners of his eyes. Pyrrhus had brought hundreds of men, but many of them could yet be stopped from entering the hall. Only the mob of citizens in a mad panic could prevent the cutting down of this visitor.

The people. The people were his priority. There would be no battle in the hall, not that day.

"On the contrary, my lord," Pyrrhus informed him, shifting the helmet from one arm to the other. "It is _you_ who are no longer welcome in _my _house."

Dane's eyes narrowed. Fear seeped in through the cracks of his soul, though his face would never show it. Damn Achilles, damn him for putting him in this situation. Damn him for his recklessness.

"We will speak of this matter in private, immediately," he said, motioning to Eudorus. His lieutenant would know that the people must be cleared from the hall, the ceremony ended, the visiting lords and ladies sent home. War had come to Pthia, and Dane did not have the power to stop it.

Briseis caught his arm before he could escape the room. The fear he could not show reflected clearly in her eyes. "What does he mean? What does he mean this is his house, Danen?" she asked, her voice reaching the high pitch of desperation.

He shook her off, continuing on his way at a determined gait, his whole body humming with fury.


	8. Honor

* * *

_He stood next to the large form of his brother, feeling very small in comparison. They walked together in the market of the village, out searching for something beautiful to give to their mother._

_"I've been thinking for some time on a matter, Ilios," Dane admitted, strolling along in imitation of Achilles, his hands clasped lightly behind his back._

_His brother chuckled, looking down on him as though to mock his youthful sincerity. "Oh have you now? What matter so distracts my young lord's attention?"_

_"My rival. Pyrrhus of Lycomedes. He troubles my dreams sometimes. I wonder if one day I might be forced to kill him."_

_They walked on in silence for some time, continuing on even after they reached the end of the marketplace. The muscle in Achilles' jaw worked, making his agitation plain._

_"Why would you think you might ever enter combat with him? The king of Lycomedes knew father well. They were friends long before either of us were born."_

_Dane arched an eyebrow, keeping Ilios' face in his peripheral vision. "Long before Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, was born to the king's daughter? You saw how he patronized me when we met. He called me 'little brother' and knocked me on the head with his scabbard. Pyrrhus is older than me. He could claim his right to the throne of Pthia."_

_"He won't, Danen. Not so long as I live," Achilles assured, his tone dismissive._

_Dane at last turned his head to gaze fully on his brother. "And what about after you're dead?" he asked, his jaw hardening as it often did when he felt like being stubborn. "Don't you think he'll try to overthrow me once you're out of the way? He might well succeed. You never think of anything but whether or not your name will be remembered. Would you like to be remembered as the fool who left his brother to die?"_

_The anger in Achilles' sharp eyes nearly crushed the life from him. He'd seen that crazed look once before when he'd pushed too far, stepped beyond his bounds. His brother had wrapped a hand around his throat and throttled him then. He had no idea what Ilios would do to him in such a public place._

_Still, he could not back down. The second Achilles saw weakness in him, his older brother would strike him down verbally and the subject would never rise again._

_"You're too young to concern yourself with such things," Achilles growled, his arms coming loose from behind him and hanging at his sides. The pace of their walk increased and Dane fell behind, hanging his head._

_He'd lost the battle. His youth betrayed him. His brother neither paused nor glanced backward to see if he trailed along at a distance._

_"I'm grateful for all you've taught me, my brother. Now if only I could repay the favor, and teach you how to think," he whispered to himself, his eyes falling from Achilles' back to the ground._

_He trudged on in silence, his heart heavy and spirits low._

* * *

"What do you want?" he asked of Pyrrhus the moment the servants closed the doors behind the man as he entered the meeting chamber. Dane didn't intend to give his adversary a moment of pause to balance himself. He'd gotten to his feet to receive his 'guest.' He would not sit in the presence of Achilles' son. 

Pyrrhus smiled, glancing around the room at the masonry and decoration. The walls were cluttered with conversation pieces dating far back into Pthia's history. Dane knew many of the stories, and intended to share none of them.

"I wondered what it felt like to be lord of one's domain. Now that I've come here, I see that it can be absolutely beautiful. Wouldn't you agree, little brother?" Pyrrhus asked, his smile turning wicked.

Not a trace of emotion flickered across Dane's face, but inside his blood boiled. "I'm not your brother," he said plainly, stating the fact, but not letting on just how much it irritated him that he'd be referred to as such.

Pyrrhus inclined his head, raising one brow in question. "Aren't you? You deny that we shared the same father? Achilles of Pthia?"

"Did you come here to try to confuse me, Pyrrhus? Inform me that you know more of my family than I myself do? My father died some months before I was born. Achilles named me, raised me like a son..."

"Perhaps because you _were_ his son, Danen?" the lord of Lycomedes exclaimed, raising his hands and opening his eyes wide in a mockery of excitement. He took a number of steps closer to him. "I always knew it would be difficult to convince you, and the rest of the world of this fact. That indeed, you stand below me on the line of ascension to the throne of Pthia. Imagine my surprise when a dear friend of mine brought to me a witness. A man of high enough stature that his word could not be questioned by any man on this matter."

"You lie," Dane growled, not intimidated in the least by this taller man, who stood nearly chest to chest with him now.

"Do you think so? You think I would go to so much trouble, only to make up a story and lie my way to power? I brought this witness with me. Didn't I, _slave_?" Pyrrhus declared, distaste in his tone as he turned with a flourish to reveal a tall, emaciated boy in tattered rags standing just inside the half open door of the chamber.

"Didn't I!" he boomed, causing the slave to flinch in fear.

Dane's instincts processed the situation faster than his brain. His angry stare dulled as he gazed on the boy. The poor, beaten boy who stood like a ghost. Who _was_ a ghost.

"You betrayed my brother and now you betray me, Patroclus?" he asked softly.

The slave fell to his knees, sobbing. His bony arms covered his head as he curled up in a ball on the floor.

Pyrrhus watched the expression on his face carefully. "Pathetic, isn't he? Don't you agree, brother?"

"You've found a man who shares a few features with my dead cousin and covered him with dirt. Nothing more," Dane said, lifting his chin and straightening his back. His confidence could not publicly falter. "Patroclus died at Troy. Achilles burned him on a pyre at Troy."

Pyrrhus chuckled, taking his turn at playing Hades and whispering in Danen's ear. "Agamemnon might not have possessed great intellect, but he certainly had a sense of irony. He arranged for our cousin's death, whispered suggestions of defying Achilles in his ear. At least, that's how the story goes. I could not pry the details from the boy's lips. I don't believe he remembers much after Hector slashed his neck and left him for dead. When he survived the ordeal, I think perhaps Agamemnon kept him, meaning to use him should Achilles get too far out of hand. After the war, our dear cousin was sold into slavery."

"He is your slave?"

"Not mine. He belongs to a friend. A lord you've never met. Why, are you interested in buying him?" he leered.

"No," Dane said, deftly drawing his sword. Before Pyrrhus realized he'd moved, the point of the blade rested against his throat. "I'm interested in killing the man who has so brutalized a lord of Pthia."

The man at the tip of Dane's sword smiled, his hands rising in surrender. "Ah, I see then. He taught you better than you let on, little brother."

"I learned ruthlessness from Achilles' weaknesses, Pyrrhus. Your games might've worked on me if I'd been at all merciful; but rest assured—I am _not_ Achilles. Did you really expect to come here and simply take all I have? Did you think you would find me unprepared to defend myself?"

"I expected you to be honorable, Danen. You made a promise once, to the king of Ithaca. You will not raise your sword against another man until you burn the palace of Pthia to the ground. Now go, collect your cousin off the floor. You'll need him to help you pack for your journey."


	9. Lie of Life

"Is he lying?" Dane asked, turning from a window overlooking his land. He gazed dully at his lieutenant. Briseis sat on Dane's bed, tending to Patroclus' wounds with a rag and bowl of water. Aetos lay sleeping in a makeshift cradle on the floor.

Eudorus kept his distance from where Patroclus lay. He'd crossed himself in accordance with superstition many times since seeing the boy's face and did not believe Patroclus could be among the living except as an unnatural ghoul. He'd taken a chair across the room when Danen directed him to sit.

When addressed, the fear drained from Eudorus' face, but the sadness in his eyes remained. "He has no proof, my lord. We can easily discredit the dead cousin of Achilles. No one will believe him over you."

Dane shook his head tiredly. "That's not what I asked. I must find out who I am and where I stand on this matter. No more lies. Tell me what happened, what you remember. I won't become angry with you, you have my word."

Eudorus nodded, looking down at his hands as he rubbed them together. "I was only fifteen when Achilles was sent away to Lycomedes," he said, voice soft. "I don't remember all the details of what I was told, but I believe he stayed there for only a few months before Odysseus found him and asked him to fight in his first war. My first war... My father died that year, so I took my place among the Myrmidons at Achilles' side.

"By the time we returned home, rumor had spread that a princess of Lycomedes had given birth to a son, and claimed Achilles as the father. He was only fifteen. Young enough to allow the responsibility to slide off his shoulders.

"At that time a young girl of sixteen served as a handmaiden for your mother. Her name was Canace. She had black hair and eyes. Achilles took her into his bed and got her with child. He told no one until after his father had died, and then your mother—your grandmother, my lord—she insisted on creating the pretense that the two of you were brothers, and would be raised as such in order to insure the line to the throne stayed within Pthia. She may have believed she was protecting you and lord Achilles. You were only half royalty, Lord Danen. I believe your grandmother feared what might happen if the people knew the truth."

Dane scowled, his hands flexing into fists. "She should've thrown me to the sea! That would've been the merciful thing to do. At the very least she could've told me. She could've told me before he died! I thought of him as my father in secret because I knew he'd despise me if I did so publicly. He had a responsibility to me and he lied his way from under it! Look where I am now, where Aetos is! If I don't think carefully in deciding what to do, both of us will die because our _father_ didn't love us more than his own glory!"

"That's not true!" Briseis said sharply, turning from her patient to look at them, the rag forgotten in her hand. "Achilles cared deeply for you, Danen. You never saw the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of your fighting skill. You didn't hear him tell stories of you as a child—of your triumphs and failures. I didn't understand until now why he left you behind, why he didn't take you to Troy to prove yourself in war. Now I know he lied both to you and to himself. In his heart, you were his son, and he could not bear to lose you."

Dane kicked a wooden chair that sat next to where he stood. It struck the wall sharply and then fell to the floor. "His fear of losing me to war does me no favors now. He couldn't bear to see me die, and he couldn't bear to stay alive, unremembered through the ages, to stand at my side and teach me to rule in his stead. No wonder he never stayed here more than a few months at a time. He couldn't bear to look at me because, at best, I was his greatest shame and, at worst, his greatest apathy. What of my mother, Eudorus? Did he care for her as much as he cared for me?"

The pale-eyed warrior merely shook his head. "I don't know. She died shortly after childbirth. At least, that's how the story goes. Some believe your grandmother sent her away in the dead of night, so she could never claim you and ruin the charade set in motion by your birth."

Dane bowed his head. The weight of his lieutenant's words struck a cord deep inside him. He'd lived a lie his whole life, from the very moment he was born until now. Before this, no one bothered to be honest with him. Those who should've protected him unwittingly set him up for his greatest fall. No wonder he'd felt so out of place in a position of royalty. Ruling didn't come to him naturally--it wasn't in his blood.

For the first time in his life, Dane felt...defeated. "I'm leaving," he said at last, his eyes flickering over to the figure of his cousin lying on the bed. "Patroclus and I will leave this place and never return. It won't be safe for us here anymore."

"We will fight for you, my lord! There is no reason to give up the fight before it's even begun!" Eudorus pleaded, eyes wide, his words sincere.

Danen merely shook his head. "No. I am no one's lord now. I made an oath. I will burn this palace to ash before I shed blood in war. If Pyrrhus allows me to live, I will take my cousin and step aside. I will allow the oldest son of Achilles to claim what is rightfully his."

"Danen, please, I beg of you," Briseis started. "Don't give in to his demands. This is your family's kingdom. You were born and raised here, it belongs to you, these people belong to you! They need you. We will all need you!"

Again he bowed his head, sighing mightily. "The people will need me? Do they need a prince who fights for them? A prince who fights wars for his people? Now wouldn't _that_ be a sight. It would make a spectacle almost as grand as a king warring not for greed, or spite, but for _his people_. I cannot fight for my people, Briseis. I cannot even fight for myself because my father didn't bother to sire me by a princess or a queen. I am yet another sign of his weakness and I will continue to suffer for it the rest of my life, which may not be very long if Pyrrhus is unmerciful."

"Running is not your only option," she pleaded further. "You could burn the palace to smoke out the imposter and then lead an army against him."

"I'm not my brother!" Dane shouted, his chest heaving, his brow furrowed with the weight of the decision resting on his shoulders. He shook his head, letting his eyes fall shut, calming himself. "I am not Achilles. I cannot lead an army of men against anyone because they wouldn't follow me. Can't you understand? I'm not royalty. At best I'm a soldier among the ranks. Pyrrhus is true royalty and he knows it. Half of winning a war is knowing in your mind you are the superior force, fighting for what is right. My half-brother _knows_ his claim is justified.

"Kings do not kneel before soldiers, Briseis, and men do not follow the sons of slaves to their deaths."


	10. Past Burdens

AN: I apologize for any spaces deleted between words. It drives me crazy, but I can't ever fix them all.

* * *

As a boy, Dane often dreamed of standing as tall as Achilles. He'd imagined himself as a towering, broad shouldered warrior, commanding the awe of his troops.

He never dreamed of hiding his face under a hood, and riding through the pouring rain on his way to nowhere. But if he'd at least inherited his father's larger frame, he might've had an easier time of riding with his small giant of a cousin resting heavily against his back.

Patroclus had made some progress in regaining his health over the days and weeks that had passed since the two of them turned from royalty to peasants, but the journey was hard on him. They'd made little progress as a result, and had only just reached their destination.

The kingdom of Odysseus.

* * *

"We have no intention of putting a burden on your shoulders, my Lord," Danen said to the young prince of Ithaca. "We seek to earn our keep in one of your villages, nothing more. If you'd be kind enough to provide us with the proper documentation—we'll take up new beginnings and fade among your people." 

"And if I refuse?" the young prince asked, taking a sip from his wine. The two of them sat facing each other in chairs by the fireplace. The night air had grown chill as of late, and Dane welcomed the warmth after many nights under the open sky. He'd dared not take shelter where anyone might recognize him.

"Then we shall part ways tonight, and speak of this conversation no more," Dane responded, surprised he could sound so diplomatic after the long road he'd traveled.

"Where would you go?" Telemanchus asked, turning to set his cup down on a small table. "Who would take you in, son of Achilles, if not I?"

Dane's eyes suddenly turned hard and cold. He had told Telemanchus nothing of why he'd left Pthia.

The boy raised a hand to keep him from speaking. "Don't act rashly. I knew it couldn't have been anything else. Pyrrhus spreads lies about the half-brother of Achilles cowering at the thought of combat against a superior warrior. He says you took flight to avoid meeting your death at the end of a sword. You are far less of a threat to him as a cowardly uncle than a glorified son of Achilles, who stepped down in order to keep peace in his kingdom.

"You know, your people would love you, if they knew the truth."

Danen let his eyes fall to the floor in shame. "I cannot damn them to my fate over a palace and the legacy of a dead man. Pyrrhus is not stupid. He won't wage wars he can't win. He won't bring them more grief than I would have through my ignorance. He was raised to be a king."

Telemanchus folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward in his chair. "That is a very noble thought, my Lord. But how can you be so certain it's true? Don't you think it's quite possible you may have damned them by leaving them in the hands of a madman?"

Dane got to his feet, picking up his own cup of wine, and stepping close enough to offer Telemanchus a toast.

"To the quick demise of madmen," he whispered.

After a moment of hesitation, the young prince too lifted his cup, touching it to Danen's before they both took a long, long drink.

* * *

"Easy, boy, easy," Dane said softly to the young colt he rode. A breeze rustling the grass around the horse's legs caused him to shy, skittering sideways a number of steps. 

He'd made a trade with a farmer some months ago. Dane would break horses for the man in exchange for one of the farmer's daughters watching over Patroclus while he worked at various tasks to support himself and his cousin during the day. The girl went home at dusk when he returned for supper, and he cared for Patroclus himself during the night.

The village had no use for a warrior, but a strong arm and back were always needed. Dane often got work from the local smith—and while forging everyday things didn't require as much elegance as weaponry, it earned more than enough bread to live on.

It hadn't been quite a year since he'd left his palace behind, but his royal past seemed like a whole different lifetime.

Danen didn't miss watching every word he said, or performing a delicate juggling act daily in order to keep peace in his court. There were some things he missed, certain people... He kept himself busy, so he wouldn't think of them too often, and lose himself to grief. Overall, he preferred what he had—what he'd gained with his fresh start.

Dane felt like he'd been born again. This time without any expectations, or lies.

He often wished Patroclus could share in that feeling. His cousin had yet to speak a word; he remained emaciated, and his health had only just begun to improve under the girl's constant care.

Dusk approached, and a cool wind from the sea flowed through the hills to gently brush the hair from his forehead. Dane sighed, allowing his body to sway with the colt's gait. Birds chirped nearby, and children played a game in the far distance.

He could hardly remember the shame of his parentage on such beautiful evenings. For some time he'd begun to think of his exile from Pthia as a blessing, instead of a curse. The land of Ithaca was so calm and peaceful. It seemed like home more and more each day.

* * *

"I betrayed him." 

The whisper came so softly, Dane almost didn't hear it. Immediately his head jerked up from the plate of food he leaned over, and he stared in shock at the man sitting across the table from him.

The only color in Patroclus' face came from the flickering firelight warming the left side of his face. He remained pale, and pathetic—an ugly scar marred his throat. It was hard to remember his cousin had once been a handsome young man, when compared to the grey, sickly pile of bones he'd become. Yet he'd spoken. He'd finally uttered words.

A tear ran down Patroclus' face, his breathing began to deregulate. "I betrayed him," he repeated, his hands rising to cover his eyes.

Dane could hardly breathe. All this time he'd thought Patroclus had become a mute with the slashing of his throat. His cousin's illness came not entirely from parasites, injury, and ill-treatment. Perhaps a good deal of it came from guilt.

How had he managed to hold it in for so long?

Dane wiped his mouth on his napkin, and set the cloth on the table beside his plate. He rose from his chair, walking around the table to his cousin's side. One of his hands came to rest on a shoulder far too thin for the enormous burden it carried. Danen knew better than anyone that Achilles' death was too large a weight for a single man to bear.

"Whatever you might've done, you've suffered enough for it," Dane told him, keeping his voice soft. "My brother—my father—went to Troy to die. He dragged you along with him to die at his side. You weren't even twenty years old when the journey began. Achilles lived long enough to father three sons. He had no right to take you with him."

Patroclus shook his head. "It's my fault," he croaked through his sobs, his voice rusty from lack of use.

"Patroclus," Dane commanded. The word wasn't loud, but it carried a strength that made his cousin raise his eyes and look at him. "I may not rein over a kingdom any longer, but that doesn't mean I don't hold rein over you. I am a prince, and you are one of my soldiers, are you not?"

"I don't know," Patroclus whispered, nearly collapsing back into his sobs.

Dane's grip on his shoulder tightened. "I am your prince, and you are my soldier. I need you healthy, I need you strong. I relieve you of responsibility in the case of my father's death. I order you to see the events as they truly occurred, I order you to believe me when I tell you Achilles knew you weren't ready for war. He was warned by Eudorus and myself to leave you behind, so you might grow into a man before facing the forge of battle. He could not be told to sit idly by while other men fought. He should've known you could not sit idly by at Troy merely because he demanded it be so.

"I am not Achilles. I will not bring you to war to watch. If I bring you to battle, you will fight—and when you fight, it won't be for something so idle as glory, remembrance, or pride. You will fight for me, because you will believe what I fight for is true and just. You will fight to protect yourself, and those you hold dear. But most of all, you will fight because you are a soldier, Patroclus—and soldiers obey."

His cousin nodded, sagging noticeably; his rigid muscles turned to jelly, and he dissolved in a fit of tears.

For the first time since Achilles left for Troy, Danen found himself empathizing with another person. He could sense Patroclus' relief at being forgiven, the weight lifted off him. With just a few words, he'd given this fallen warrior a second chance at life. Genuine compassion for his cousin worked its way into his heart, and he knew that soon, when Patroclus' scars healed enough, they would be family.

Neither of them had anyone else to lean on. In time, perhaps they would learn to lean on each other.


	11. Students

Danen had never taken on a student before. Achilles took on a small number in his time, but hadn't passed on his affinity for teaching to his son.

As Patroclus grew stronger, it became clear the two of them had little to speak of. One thing they had shared was a warrior's training—and it seemed natural that they fill the gap of sparring partner in each other's lives.

For months Dane had to push his cousin. Force him to regain the physical strength he'd lost. With his regained muscle tone and stamina, came an inner peace for Patroclus. He began to walk with his back straight, instead of slinking around half bent over. He ate his dinner with conviction, instead of pushing it around on his plate.

* * *

Patroclus lunged at him, wooden sword extended, searching for his ribs. Dane easily jumped back from the advancing sword tip, parrying the blow with minimal effort. He often took the defensive to his cousin's attacks; conserving his own energy while Patroclus quickly wore himself out. It was an exercise in increasing stamina, and precision.

"Now you're mocking me," Patroclus stated, hardly amused.

Dane backed up another step in the field's beat-down grass. He didn't even have to worry about his footing. Unlike in Pthia, there were few rocks waiting to trip him on the gentle, green slopes of their new homeland.

When Patroclus came after him, again lunging at a perceived opening, Danen turned, blocking with his wooden blade and grabbing his cousin's wrist, throwing the taller man past him and to the ground.

Dane let his sword rest on his shoulder, chuckling while looking down on his disgruntled kin. "Now I'm mocking you," he agreed.

He took hold of Patroclus' wrist, and pulled the taller man to his feet. The sun had risen above the horizon, and it was time for the two of them to get to work. There were meager crops, and a small number of animals to tend. Later, Danen would go to the village and see if the smith had work for him.

* * *

Dane returned home at dusk—worn and dirty from a long day of work. In spite of the long hours at the forge, his step remained light, even under the weight of the pack he carried. The hard labor of the common folk suited him. Achilles' training had made him lithe and quick—but since leaving his palace home, he'd become stronger than an ox.

At first Dane had found amusement in his new-found strength, and the method by which he'd aquired it. Then his amusement had turned to dismay when his thickened limbs began to strain the seams of his clothes. For all his talent with a sword, he had not the grace to wield a needle with any expertise. His shirts and pants had become a patchwork over the past year or more.

Upon entering the house he shared with his cousin, Danen found they had a dinner guest seated at their table. It was the farmer, Esdras—the one Dane had broken horses for in exchange for his daughter's skill as a nurse-maid for Patroclus.

Speaking of his cousin, Dane was relieved Patroclus had already begun to serve the evening meal. His stomach had growled for the past several hours.

"This is terrible," their guest commented humorously in regard to the soup in his bowl. He tried to break up a chunk of meat with his spoon, without success.

Patroclus smirked, sitting down with his own bowl. "My cooking isn't so bad—once you've tasted one of my dear cousin's unfortunate concoctions," he teased.

Dane made a face in his cousin's direction. "Remind me to hit you harder when we fence tomorrow, cousin. I haven't properly taught you lessons in humility."

"And your mother didn't properly teach you lessons in sewing," Esdras observed.

Both the old farmer and his cousin burst out laughing. Dane merely shook his head, letting his bag of goods slide to the floor, where he could deal with it later.

He got himself a bowl of soup, joining the other two men at the table. He found himself expending a great deal of effort blowing on each bite to cool it. Dane usually poured a small amount of cool water into soup, but the bucket had gone dry over the course of the day, and he was too hungry to refill from the well outside.

The three of them sat at the table late into the night. They had no wine to share, but the fire kept them warm, and the stories shared were entertaining enough.

With the night winding down, Esdras looked around their small dwelling, still chuckling to himself, wiping tears from his eyes. "To tell the truth, I had reason to come here tonight. I wish to ask the two of you a favor," he said, slowly becoming more serious.

"Ask, and you shall have it," Patroclus invited, lounging in his chair.

Dane tended to agree with his cousin, but held his tongue. The two of them owed the farmer a great deal for allowing his daughter to care for Patroclus during his time of illness. Very few men in Greece allowed their wives and daughters out of the house, nevertheless to go unescorted to the home of some unrelated male. Still, he would hear the farmer's request before promising to grant it.

Esdras leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. He took a long moment to collect his thoughts, and then looked up at the two of them.

"My wife gave me a good number of healthy, strong children. Sons, and daughters. The oldest was a girl with such spirit—no one man could ever tame her. She grew into the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. At the height of her beauty, she married a man in the village who had the means to care for her. He was a plain man in his forties. Perhaps a little too old for her. She was found committing adultery with his nephew mere months after their wedding. Her husband divorced her, and she died in childbirth in my home six months later.

"My wife passed away in her grief at our daughter's death, and months later one of my sons was consumed by madness. I am not a man of great wealth. After so much grief came to my household, I couldn't raise a dowry big enough to tempt suitors for my two remaining girls. You know Cybele. She's the older one. She came here to care for you all those months, Patroclus. Leda, the little one, she's a handful, but she's a good, hard worker. They need husbands who will care for them when I'm gone. From what I see here, it appears the two of you need wives to cook your meals, mend your clothes, clean, and fetch water. I have very little to give, but should you do this for me, I would forever be in your debt."

Silence settled on them for long minutes, while Danen looked at their guest, the gears in his mind turning. Never in his life had he considered taking a wife. He'd never even been with a woman—remaining entirely focused on his training and his work.

"Would you consider it, Danen?" Patroclus asked, his whisper so soft, it took Dane by surprise. When he glanced over, he saw his cousin playing with the frayed hem of his shirt, his gaze purposely cast downward—almost in shame.

Esdras looked between the two of them, his expression growing shrewd. "You take orders from your younger cousin then, Patroclus? Interesting, indeed."

"We will consider the offer," Dane agreed, getting off the subject.

The old farmer thanked them for a pleasant evening, and they saw him to the door. When he was gone, Danen watched Patroclus cleaning up the table, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You like her, don't you," Dane said at last. "Cybele. She must be eighteen or older—almost too old to marry, some might say."

Patroclus shook his head, never pausing from his cleaning. "You wouldn't understand, Danen. You don't see women as companions. You don't see anyone as a companion. People are invisible to you. She cared for me for months. Do you even realize living with you used to be like living alone? It felt I had no one else. I couldn't speak, but she cared for me, and spoke to me anyway."

Dane looked away, surprisingly hurt by that accusation. It'd never occurred to him that other people might experience loneliness in his presence. For so many years Achilles had been the only person in his world. Ilios had been his brother, teacher, and father. Dane had never needed anyone else. Had his father left him for the same reason Patroclus desired a wife? Had Achilles felt alone in his presence?

"Do you love her?" Danen asked, his arms still crossed.

Patroclus shrugged one shoulder in dismissal—but Dane knew what it meant. His cousin might indeed love the girl who'd nursed him back to health.

Dane took another look around their living space, mentally comparing it to the home he'd had in Pthia, where servant girls had cleaned up after him. The comparison was a little daunting when he thought on it hard enough.

Perhaps the old farmer was right. Perhaps wives were the very thing they needed.


	12. Forever Bound

AN: Things are going to be kind of peaceful over the next few chapters, but that's mostly to set the stage for the excitement later. Hopefully I can keep the 'calm' chapters interesting:-)

AN2: I added on an extra part to the end of chapter 4. It's not essential to the plot, but I thought it helped smooth the transitions a little bit. It might be fun to check out.

* * *

Normally Danen would've protested a feast in his house. It would've felt too much like his days at court. However, tasting food prepared by his new wife's sisters-in-law, and drinking wine for the first time in ages quickly put his doubts to rest. He ate more than his fill, and always found his cup full when he drank. 

Leda, his young bride, had been unveiled to him only hours before, during the ceremony at her father's house. She wasn't a ravishing beauty, but her features were pleasing. She had large green eyes that betrayed both her youth and a mischievous nature. She giggled often with the younger members of her female kin, casting quick, mysterious glances in Dane's direction—yet she never strayed far from his elbow all through the night.

Danen suspected she was the reason he never saw the bottom of his wine glass. He wondered if the thought of getting him obscenely drunk amused her. From what he'd seen of her personality thus far, the thought did seem to fit her character.

Good thing she didn't know he had an exceptional tolerance for alcohol. Achilles had seen to that.

It wasn't too late in the evening when Dane's new relatives at last gave the four of them their peace. After three days of preparing for, and participating in ceremonies, it was time for the new couples to have the privacy necessary to consummate their marriages.

Patroclus and his shy wife slipped away to their bedroom soon after the guests left. Danen remained seated at the table, considering the girl cleaning up after him.

She couldn't have been much older than sixteen. They weren't as far apart in age as was custom, but there was a definite gap separating them.

At last his dark-haired bride approached him, taking both his hands in hers. "Come, my husband. The dishes are done, and it's time to get you out of that chair," she said, grinning wickedly at him.

"Aren't you all vibrant, glowing energy," he commented sardonically, his head fuzzy, in spite of his tolerance.

She pulled him to his feet with some difficulty. Dane nearly sank back down into his chair, feeling light-headed at getting up after sitting so long. Leda's small arms wrapped about his waist, and she gripped tight to balance him.

"You're bigger than my brothers," she admitted, getting under his arm to help him along once he regained his balance, and smiling at the thought. "Perhaps that's why you were able to drink so much, and remain conscious."

Dane raised one eyebrow at her, letting some of his weight lean on her shoulders, even though he didn't need the help in walking. "Was it a contest then? A dare your brothers put you up to, seeing how much I could hold?"

Leda smirked. "No. I wanted to see what kind of a drunk you were. My father can still take me back if you prove unfit."

A lazy smile touched Dane's features, and he chuckled at his bride's wiles. "I will have to be careful with you, Leda. You're not so innocent as you appear. Hopefully, you're not as vicious, either."

They entered Dane's bedroom together, and sat down on the edge of his bed. Leda got up to latch the door, leaving him to sit alone. He used the opportunity to remove his shoes, tossing them into some dark corner of the room where the soft lamplight didn't extend.

Slow, measured steps brought his young wife before him. Through the fog in his head, he recognized she'd changed clothes without him noticing. The robe she wore was made of a lighter cotton, and it nicely accented her body's curves. She stood before him prepared to become his, totally and completely.

"Do you require anything?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

He shook his head, glancing up at her face. She was beautiful, standing over him. Her cool hands caressed his neck, and the warm sides of his face. She smiled, blushing slightly in reponse to his hungry gaze, appearing shy for the first time that night.

"Much of this is new to me," Dane admitted, reaching out to take hold of one of her hips. He liked the feel of the thin robe covering her body, so he reached out to grasp her other hip as well.

Her small hands squeezed his shoulders in return. Leda smirked at him. "Are you saying you're a virgin too, my love? If that's true we should cure each other immediately, or else we might cower in fear of the unknown for the rest of our lives."

Dane smiled. The girl amused him. Beyond that, she made him feel things he'd only experienced in moderation before. All evening, her short teasing looks, and the way she'd stayed by his side had invited him to like her. Now, sitting on his bed, with her scent all around him, he felt the intensity of his need growing by the second.

"I have only one request of you, Danen," she said softly, moving closer so she could place a knee on each side of him, straddling his lap. Her buttocks fit perfectly in his hands, and he squeezed without conscious thought, pleased when he felt a shiver go through her.

"Name it," he whispered, kissing the side of her right breast through her robe. The animal inside him surprised him with its knowledge of how to make his young wife tremble.

"Please, kiss me, before anything else," she said softly. "I would like to know what it is to be kissed before I become entirely yours."

The alcohol must've taken away his doubt in his ability, because Dane didn't hesitate in placing a hand at the base of her skull, and bringing her down for a warm, passionate lip-lock. Completely forgetting he had limited experience at kissing, he wasn't even surprised when he managed to please her, making her gasp and sigh against his mouth.

When he could stand it no more, Dane got up, setting Leda on her feet so he could shrug off the blue shirt he wore, baring his upper body and powerful shoulders. She came back to him the second the cloth hit the floor, jumping so he could catch her, and kiss her again.

He dropped her onto his bed on her back, untying her robe and letting it spread beneath her, exposing her entire body to him in the low lamplight. She squirmed away from him, farther up onto the bed, pulling her arms free from the robe, and beckoning him to join her.

He untied the rope around his waist, letting the last of his clothing fall to the ground before crawling after her, bringing his body up over hers, his weight still on his hands and knees when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

"Gods, you are handsome," she whispered, her eyes half lidded. She ran a hand down one of his thickly muscled arms, then back up it and across his toned chest.

Achilles had told him the first time was often hard for a woman. There would be blood, and no matter how he tried, he probably wouldn't be able to please her.

Dane eased into a gentle rhythm, hating every pained look on his wife's face. He thought about stopping when tears ran down her cheeks, but she urged him on. Soon he felt he wouldn't have been able to stop if she'd requested it.

He laid beside her afterward, holding her to his chest. She cried a little, and smiled too. Leda told him she'd been afraid of marrying, afraid to leave her father's house. She'd also been afraid no man would want her after all the trouble her older sister caused. Dane kissed her a number of times, too pacified to know what else to do.

She promised he'd always be happy with her, right before she fell asleep, exhausted. Dane joined her a few short minutes later, still holding her close.

* * *

He woke early, in spite of the late hours he'd kept. Dane's head pounded, and his mouth felt stuffed with cotton. He couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced such a severe hangover. 

A full bucket of water waited for him beside his bed, and he took a long drink from it. The clothes he'd worn the night before had disappeared, and a fresh, folded set lay at the ready.

Danen dressed slowly—too groggy to fully appreciate the benefits he'd already wrought from having married.

He found Leda and her sister bustling about the kitchen area, preparing food for the morning meal. A bucket of milk sat near the door, evidence the goats had already been milked.

His wife didn't hear his entrance into the kitchen. She was too preoccupied with stretching toward a bowl on a high shelf, mildly cursing her lack of height under her breath.

"Could you help me, Bela?" she asked, stretching on tip-toe before falling back to stand flat-footed on the floor.

Her repeated attempts, and the language she used, made him smirk, in spite of his headache. Dane silently walked up behind her, easily reaching up and fetching the bowl for her.

She gasped, jumping back in fright at seeing him. He laughed, and even her older sister, who spoke rarely in his presence, chuckled softly.

"You startled me," Leda scolded, one hand clutching at her chest.

Dane offered her the bowl, still smiling through the pounding in his head. She took it from him, her look softening. One of her small hands came to rest against his stomach, and she moved close enough to kiss him, just as two pans her sister carried clanged together loudly enough to make him wince.

When he reached to rub at his temple, Leda quickly turned away, scurrying back to her work as if she'd been slapped. It seemed in her older sister's presence, Leda had become shy of him. She even blushed when he touched her shoulder in passing, on his way to sit down at the table.

The girl was a walking contradiction. The night before she'd wanting nothing but his touch. This morning she seemed content to pretend he didn't sit in the kitchen, watching her.

Dane wondered if he'd scared her; perhaps hurt her worse than he'd known when he'd taken her virginity the night before. Then again, Achilles did always say the moods of women changed more frequently than winds in a storm. Perhaps later he would ask Patroclus about Leda's strange behavior. Until then, he would nurse his hangover, and hope to gain a better understanding of women soon.


	13. Princes and Dreams

"My sister said I'm too forward with you," Leda admitted that night.

She'd sat at the end of his bed, running a comb through her hair for many long minutes in silence, while he'd rinsed the grime from his hands and arms at the basin in their room. The girlish spunk that amused him the night before had diminished greatly throughout the day. At the mid-day meal he'd seen sparks of it when she'd burned herself, and cursed the gods for the pain she suffered.

Dane glanced at her over his shoulder. He felt ready to collapse after a long day. After battling the feeling of sickness most of the morning, on top of the little sleep he'd gotten the night before, he felt drained.

"Is that why you've been so quiet?" he asked.

Leda nodded, suddenly looking more like a girl than a woman. "She said I shouldn't do things that might tempt you. I should act as though I can control myself. I've always been something of a flirt, but I didn't think it would be a problem. I didn't expect to feel attracted to my own husband. When father said he'd found us grooms, I thought you'd be old, desperate for any woman you could find. It shocked me to learn I would marry a young man—and it shocked me more to find I was very much attracted to you," she said, turning her eyes to the floor and smiling, while her cheeks began to burn a bright pink.

Danen approached her, getting down on one knee and hooking a finger under her chin, lifting her face so she'd look at him.

"Cybele is your sister," he told her. "_I_ am your husband. If you're too forward with me, I'll speak with you about it in private. In front of my cousin and his wife, you needn't worry too much. I've spent my whole life either alone, or in the company of other warriors. Most suspected I preferred men. I knew I wasn't interested in other males, but until you showed me last night, I wasn't entirely sure I'd been born whole—able to feel compelled to take pleasure in a woman. So please, try to tempt me—make me feel human. I have more than enough self-control for both of us."

Leda nodded, biting her lower lip. "I will try, Danen."

"Good," he said, tapping her knee. "Get in under the covers. I'll join you in a minute."

She started to obey, glancing at him walking around their bed to put out the lamp.

"Should I take off my robe?" she asked, cautiously.

"No," he replied, licking his fingers and expertly extinguishing the flame. "I want to give you time to heal. Our marriage is consummated. Waiting a few days to be together again won't hurt."

She scooted close when he laid down beside her, snuggling against his chest when he draped an arm across her. "You know," she said softly, tracing the lines of his bare chest, her head resting on his shoulder. "I used to day dream that one day a prince would come and take me away to live with him in his palace."

Dane brushed her hair back from her face, letting his fingers run through the soft strands. "My mother served in a palace. I lived there for years. It was the most beautiful prison I've ever seen. I saw a number of princes in my time there, and none of them impressed me."

"You could be a prince," she whispered sleepily, sighing and resettling her head on his shoulder.

He wondered if he should tell her he had been royalty once—but after a few moments of thought, he decided against it.

* * *

"I didn't know you could laugh," Patroclus said, swinging his practice sword down upon him. 

Dane caught the blow, but almost too late. He'd become sluggish after two weeks without practice.

Patroclus, on the other hand, seemed energized. "In all the years I've known you, I don't think you once did more than pass a grimace off as a smile. Now I hear you laughing like you've done it all your life. If we'd known you needed a woman in your bed so badly, I'm sure Achilles and I could've found you one years ago."

Dane scowled, all his focus on fending off the flurry of blows flying at him. "You know I only consented to marry because I grew tired of your cooking, cousin."

Patroclus smiled. He feinted, landing a blow to Dane's side. "I know—but it's done wonders for your demeanor," he commented.

Dane struck his cousin's ribs with a stinging blow, taking a rare offensive in their little game. Following up, he struck Patroclus' thigh, and then his side again—bringing his count to three and ending their session.

Patroclus took the defeat well, raising his sword in salute.

Dane returned the salute, breathing hard—glad for the cool wind washing over his sweat-soaked body. He collapsed to a sitting position in the soft grass, and Patroclus took a seat a short distance away.

Danen took a minute to catch his breath before speaking, looking around at the livestock that grazed in the distance.

"Do you think they'll need separate homes?" he asked.

Patroclus gave him a confused look. "Leda and Cybele? Why?"

Dane shrugged, letting his forearms rest on his knees. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if Leda would be better off running her own household. Her older sister gives her directions, and she follows them, but she despises being told what to do. I wonder sometimes if she would prefer to run things her own way."

Patroclus laughed long and hard. He fell over into the grass, he was so entertained. "Oh, Danen. You are a warrior at heart. Did your mother teach you nothing of women?"

Dane glared at him pointedly. "You know I never met my mother. My grandmother hardly taught me anything at all. What is it I'm supposed to know?"

Patroclus propped himself up on one forearm, still smiling wickedly. "You do realize the point of marriage, don't you? The eventual end result? In a year or more we'll each have a child, and there'll be more in the years to come. Leda's young. Once you get her with child, she'll want Cybele nearby, to speak with of things you'd rather not know. After your baby comes, she'll need her sister to teach her, and help her. The two of them will fight at times, but they'd be lonely and depressed if we separated them. It's not as obvious now, but once there're children to run after, you'll see. They'll be so glad for each other's help, they'll stop arguing. If they ever desire independence from each other, it won't be for a long time."

Dane thought on his cousin's words for a long moment, then shrugged and got to his feet. It just went to show how much he knew about women.

* * *

He and Patroclus finished chores early that evening, and since there was still enough light to see by, Danen retrieved one of his real swords from the place where he'd hidden them under his mattress. He tended the blade, and then began his practice patterns outside on the grass field. By the time he completed a number of exercises, he was tired, but satisfied with the work he'd put in. He just wished he had a shield and spear to practice with. He'd made a bow for hunting, and a spear might be manageable, but a shield could be difficult to craft. 

"You were a soldier, weren't you?"

Dane whipped around, finding Leda sitting at the base of a tree, sewing a rip in one of his shirts. He hadn't noticed when she'd walked up, and didn't know how long she'd watched him.

She glanced up at him from her work. The glowing sunset behind her cast a beautiful rose color on her cheeks, and cast gold highlights in her dark hair.

"I was trained to fight from an early age," he replied, evading the question.

She smiled a little, and her next question surprised him. "Would you teach me to fight?"

He picked up his scabbard, sheathing his blade, thinking on what to say to her. "Is it appropriate for me to teach you such things?" he asked at last.

Leda chortled. "Of course not. You aren't like other men I've known, Danen. My father and brothers would never put up with my cursing, or my antics. You take amusement in my flaws. You're very curious indeed, but we have gotten along well, you and I. I ask worthless questions, and you don't become angry with me."

"I rarely become angry at all," he reminded, reaching down to take her hand, and pulling her to her feet. "I find your flaws entertaining. Ask Patroclus about my sense of humor sometime, and try not to be offended when he laughs."

Leda put her sewing away in her basket, gripping his wrist when he tried to turn away. "Tonight?" she asked, a small amount of pleading her tone.

He nodded, agreeing to grant the request that had weighed heavily on both their minds the past ten days.

She reached up to stroke his face with the back of her hand, before pulling him down for a kiss that left him wanting more of her.


	14. Glory

Weeks passed. Dane woke early each morning to work at keeping his fighting skills sharp. After weapons practice came chores and breakfast, followed by whatever other work needed to be done. He ate well at each meal, and slept well at night after making love to his wife.

Danen began to understand why his father had preferred sex to training, but he still couldn't fathom bedding more than one woman. He managed to cope well with Leda's bad days—the tempers she'd get in after an argument with her sister. Still, he couldn't imagine dealing with a small army of women. It was enough to take responsibility for one.

It surprised him when his wife's infatuation with him didn't fade. If he finished his chores early, and came inside to sit down and take a drink of water, more often than not she'd end up seated on his lap, chattering away at him about all sorts of things. He found she rarely spoke so much to anyone else, because she feared they would yell at her. When they were alone, she told him stories she came up with during dull hours of daily work, and he listened, amused by her girlish youth, and innocence.

When he had time in the evenings, he did show her how to hold a wooden practice sword, and how to defend against various blows. Dane got the feeling her older sister disapproved of him teaching Leda to use a weapon—Cybele often shot him dirty looks across the dinner table whenever they returned from a session, sweating, their cheeks reddened from the cooling night air.

Perhaps Leda's sister also suspected their sessions weren't entirely chaste. She seemed to glare most when they'd return flushed, their clothes rumpled, smiling at each other often, like miscreant children with something to hide.

Nearly five months passed, and very little changed in their home. Days came and went peacefully for the most part. At times Dane's wife and cousin complained that he became too absorbed in his daily routine, and withdrew into himself. He tried to observe the other three people he lived with, and become more like them. Interact with them. When asked to settle disputes between his wife and sister-in-law while Patroclus was away, he tried to negotiate rational mediums the way Briseis had taught him years before in Pthia.

If nothing else, Leda taught him to be flexible when a change came about in his plans. She often grew bored in the house, and would request interludes at random. One day he came in for the mid-day meal to find her waiting with a basket of food and a blanket, ready to go outside and enjoy the mild weather during their meal.

Cybele was scolding her relentlessly for her foolishness, so the moment Dane walked in, Leda grabbed his wrist and pulled him out the door with her.

When they were out of sight of the house, Leda let go of him and sat down on the ground, dropping her basket and blanket beside her. She covered her face with both hands, letting her hair fall in a veil around her.

"Le," Dane said softly, crouching down and placing a hand on her shoulder. He knew she hated it when he saw her cry. He brushed her hair back, gently pulling her hands away from her tear-streaked face and holding them in his, so she couldn't pull away from him. "Your sister is just in one of her moods. It's a beautiful day. You aren't foolish for wanting to enjoy it."

Leda shook her head. "Bela's been horrible to me lately. I think she's jealous of me, but I can't help it. It's not my fault."

Dane shushed her, giving her hands a firm squeeze. "Come on. We'll find shade to sit in, and you can tell me about it."

Without waiting for a response, he pulled her to her feet. Dane took the blanket, and she picked up her basket, and they walked toward the trees in the distance, hand-in-hand.

She'd prepared a good meal. Dane ate his fill, and then invited Leda to sit on his lap while he rested with his back against the tree they sat under. She'd been unusually quiet, and ate very little, though she did let him kiss her a number of times before they sat together quietly, enjoying the peaceful day.

Her tears had long since dried, and after a while Dane noticed a small placated smile touched her lips.

"What's so funny?" he asked, stroking her hip through her robe, letting his fingers run down the outside of her thigh before starting over again at the top of her hip.

"Nothing," she said, resettling against his chest, her head on his shoulder. Her green eyes stared off at some point in the distance. "I only wish Bela could be happy for me. I try to imagine how frightened she must be, but it's hard when she yells at me all the time. Especially now."

Dane forced his features to remain smooth, not letting his confusion show through. "What would she have to fear?" he asked.

Leda sat up a little on his lap so she could look him in the eye. She reached out to stroke his hair. "You seem so worldly sometimes, Dane. You've been so many places, and seen many things. You're educated. It scares me sometimes, because I'm just a farmer's daughter. Then, sometimes, I take you completely by surprise—and it absolutely shocks me. I haven't told you, because Bela kept insisting I wait until the right time, but I thought for sure you would've figured it out by now."

"What?" he asked, feeling strangely calm, in spite of his ignorance. The tone of her voice didn't warn him toward fear. Whatever secret she kept from him must not be too terrible.

Leda took a breath, and smiled shyly at the thought of whatever she had to say, like she couldn't help it. "You'll be a father in late spring, Danen," she said, gazing down at where her small hand pressed against his chest. "I didn't tell you before, because it's easy to miscarry in the first few months. Cybele missed her cycle for a month or two, and then lost your cousin's child not so long ago. Bela told him she has severe pains with her cycle sometimes, and he never knew. The second I suspected I was carrying, I wanted to tell everyone—but she made me keep quiet."

Dane let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. His arms rose so he could grip her shoulders without any conscious directing from his brain. "You must always tell me when you suspect pregnancy, Leda. I never would've risked the child's life by reaching for you in the night if I'd known," he said, hardly noticing his heart pounding at the significance of what she'd told him.

He would have a child in half a year, or less. He'd come full circle—from unwanted son, to husband and father. He would have the chance to do right everything Achilles had done wrong.

She smirked a little. "Oh, don't be silly. That doesn't cause women to lose pregnancies. If it did, I would've pushed you away. I know plenty of girls who've miscarried because they worried so much they shut themselves off from the world."

Dane nodded, taking her word for it. He truly knew nothing of women. It relieved him to learn he hadn't unknowingly endangered what they'd created.

Her eye caught his, and he realized she still waited for him to say something. What, he couldn't fathom.

"Tell me you're glad, Danen," she said. "Please, don't make me wonder if you'll reject this baby when it's born."

Dane looked at her, stunned. The request that came from her mouth hadn't sounded like the girl he knew. For the first time, she sounded entirely like a woman—and he'd put the weight of the world on her shoulders. He hadn't meant to give the impression he didn't desire a family.

Danen looked her straight in the eye, cupping her cheek in one large palm. "I can't describe to you how glad I am," he told her, entirely confident in his statement. "I will never reject a child I've fathered. I didn't have the opportunity to confront the man who sired me. He abandoned me to the care of others for entirely selfish reasons; excusing his actions by thinking he fathered me too early in his life to bear responsibility for me. You needn't fear that fate befalling your children, Leda."

She grinned, grabbing him around the neck and hugging him tight.

Dane let his eyes fall closed, gently squeezing her in a warm embrace. For the first time in his life, he felt compelled to look to the sky and thank the gods for what they'd given him. He didn't believe, and he never would, but when he opened his dark eyes to consider the world's blue ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder if Achilles' glory had tasted sweeter than this moment.

Perhaps if his father had known a simple life such as the one Danen now led, he wouldn't have run off so quickly to die.


	15. Forever a Soldier

Cybele's scream brought Dane suddenly to wakefulness. He detangled himself from his sleeping wife, and grabbed a sword from under his bed—running from the room barefoot, wearing nothing more than thin nightclothes. He drew his sword while storming into the kitchen.

Cybele stood with her back against the table, having backed as far as she could from two armed men standing in front of her, their swords drawn, shields in hand. Behind them, the door stood wide open, as if they'd just burst through it from outside. They had yet to advance upon Cybele. They stood at the ready, as if waiting to see what opposition they faced before jumping in too deep.

Dane stepped forward to stand in front of his sister-in-law, his sword and scabbard held at his sides. The night before, he'd gone to bed a farmer, a jack of numerous trades. At the first light of dawn, he'd jumped from his bed a soldier. His face had become the smooth mask of a killer.

The fire had died down low, leaving the room shrouded in shadows. He couldn't see the faces of the men, but he could see from the way they stood they were soldiers.

"State your business in my home, or I'll kill you," Danen growled, forcing his muscles to relax—yet remain ready.

One of the men looked to the other, and then back at Dane. He sheathed his sword, and fell to one knee. "My lord, we didn't realize this was your home. We frightened the lady, and when she screamed we drew our swords, not knowing what to expect. It's our duty to defend Lady Briseis to our deaths. Please, forgive our intrusion. We've sought you for months."

The other man too sheathed his sword, and fell to a knee. "Forgive me, Lord Danen—I'm new to the Myrmidons. I didn't recognize you."

"Eudorus," Dane said, his memory finally placing the first man's voice with a name.

The first man bowed even deeper, nearly touching his forehead to the floor.

Danen's brow furrowed. "Eudorus, why have you sought me out here?"

"I've come to believe he seeks your forgiveness, little brother," Briseis said, stepping in the door from outside. She held a golden haired boy of four or five on her hip.

Aetos.

The boy had grown a great deal since Danen last laid eyes on him.

"Haimon—might I beg of you to go tend the horses?" Briseis asked.

The man Dane didn't know immediately got to his feet, and left the small house.

Still not putting away his sword, Danen turned to his sister-in-law. He laid his scabbard down on the table, and reached out the squeeze her shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

Cybele nodded, but her face remained pale.

"I apologize if we scared you," Briseis said, addressing the frightened woman, letting Aetos slip to the floor as she approached them.

"Those men," Bela started, looking up at Dane with frightened awe. "They bowed to you. They..."

She was interupted by Patroclus' entrance from his bedroom. Her husband, still half-asleep, yawned mightily, seeming oblivious to anything going on around him.

Dane scowled in his cousin's direction.

"What happened?" Patroclus asked, looking around. He wore nothing more than the undergarments he'd slept in.

Danen rolled his eyes, picking up his scabbard and sharply sheathed his sword. "With only you to protect her, your wife might've been dead now, cousin."

Patroclus shrugged, stretching his long arms high above his head. "Isn't that what you're here for, Danen? To protect us all?" he teased.

Briseis covered her mouth with one hand to muffle a snicker.

Dane turned and stalked back to his room, growling under his breath. He closed the door behind him, and went about getting dressed without saying a word to Leda, who sat on the edge of their bed, having already pulled on her clothes.

"I heard a little," she ventured cautiously. "Those people—do they know you?"

"Not the way you do," he said—not sure if he meant to reassure her, or to simply throw out an answer. It was the truth. They didn't know the man he'd become since he'd left Pthia.

"Do you want me to meet them?" she asked. She hadn't sounded so unsure of her place with him since the first weeks of their marriage.

Dane finished securing his robes, and then sat down beside her, letting his face rest in his hands. "I have much to tell you," he admitted after a long pause, raising his head to look at her. "Did you suspect there were things I never told you?"

She nodded, her gaze on the floor. He noticed she had one hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly. Winter had settled into early spring many weeks ago, and she'd grown heavier with each passing day. There was no way to conceal her condition anymore.

Dane wasn't sure he wanted their guests to know he'd gotten a woman with child. He felt no shame in it—they were married—but he innately feared the consequences of that information traveling back to Pthia.

He sighed, letting his chin come to rest on one fist. "I'll tell you everything tonight, if you wish to hear it. I have no other wives, mistresses, or children—so put any thoughts of it out of your mind. Did you hear the woman named Briseis call me little brother?"

Leda shook her head.

"She calls me 'little brother' because she thought the father of her son was my older brother. Neither she nor I knew it—but he was my father as well. The boy she brought here is my half-sibling, not my son. Briseis is not your competition. She loved my father, and last I saw her, she loved him still. I suppose you could say she's my step-mother, though I don't believe she's very much older than Patroclus."

Leda nodded, but Danen suspected his words didn't banish all her doubts. He hated to worry her, especially with her time looming ever closer on the horizon.

"Why are they here?" she asked at last, looking at him mournfully.

Dane shook his head, scooting closer to her so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her against his side. "I don't know," he said softly, absently letting his fingers run through her hair. "But it frightens me that they've come."


	16. Too Long

Dane returned to the kitchen, finding Patroclus and Briseis speaking quietly at the table—Cybele seated at her husband's side.

Aetos sat quietly on the floor by the fireplace, tying knots in a piece of thread he'd been given.

Briseis turned to look at Dane as he approached. She smiled at him. "Ah, the mighty prince returns, fully dressed. I apologize for disturbing you so early."

Danen looked around for Eudorus.

"I sent them to cut wood for the fire," Briseis explained. "It seemed the least they could do after scaring Cybele half to death."

Dane nodded, taking a seat at the rectangular table, remaining alert. More than once his eyes flickered in Aetos' direction. When his younger brother had been a baby, Dane had shown little interest in the boy. With Leda getting so close to delivering, he found himself immensely curious about the inner-workings of Aetos' mind. It was not lost on Danen that he knew even less of children than he'd known of women.

"He's shy in front of strangers, but once you get to know him, he might surprise you," Briseis said, noticing where his eye kept wandering.

Dane smirked. "Does he remind you very much of our father?"

Briseis smiled back, gazing lovingly at her son. "Yes. He also reminds me very much of you. His mind is sharp, and inquiring. He's quietly stubborn at times—but not meanly bullheaded, like your father."

They heard the door to Danen's bedroom creak open, and Briseis turned to see Leda timidly approaching them, her soft steps taking her straight to her husband.

It struck Dane as odd to see his wife act shy. He received her warmly, taking her on his lap, kissing her forehead when she curled up against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her hips, letting his other hand come to rest on her belly, making clear his claim on her. He knew the royal blood in Briseis' veins wouldn't allow her to overlook something so gossip-worthy as a common girl in child by the son of Achilles. Instead of playing games of denial, Dane took her curious gaze head-on.

"Do you think I should tell my wife whose grandchild she carries, Briseis?" he asked, making it plain in his tone how much he regretted the legacy he represented, and would pass on to his children.

Briseis looked over at her golden-haired son. He still played quietly by the fire, but Dane suspected the boy listened to the conversation of the adults in the room. He was almost old enough to understand much of what they spoke of.

"I wish it didn't matter, so long as she knew you were the father, Danen," the Trojan woman replied. "I'm afraid it may be vital to her survival to know."

Dane sighed. "It's that bad? You came here to warn us?"

"I came here to escape," Briseis corrected. "Pyrrhus has joined his army with the one your ancestors founded—he's trying to take over all of Greece, and no army can slow him. He hasn't turned his eye on Ithaca, because he believes it will fall easily with a young prince guiding its warriors. He hasn't come here yet, but he will. If he finds you, he won't let you live this time, Danen. When you walked away from Pthia, he gained an army without losing a single man. Now he has no motivation to allow you to go free."

"What would you have me do?" he asked, his voice turning cold. He remembered now, how it felt to be royalty. His life constantly threatened—the feeling of having no heart, or passion.

When he'd been a prince, he'd trained his body mercilessly to impress a father who didn't love him. He'd known nothing of the joy of spending an afternoon fishing with his cousin, or the intense emotion that came with making love to his wife. He'd never known freedom.

If Achilles hadn't been so in love with his own glory, he might've known freedom too—and none of them would be in this mess.

"We only have two choices," Briseis said softly. "You could return to Pthia and challenge Pyrrhus to combat—or your family could sail away with us to the settlement where the people of Troy are rebuilding anew. Patroclus and Cybele could convincingly claim Aetos as their son, and my cousin, Paris, would take us in."

Dane thought on her words in silence for a long moment, shifting Leda's weight on his lap. He could feel their baby kicking under his hand, though he needed little reminding of the other lives he had to consider in his decision.

"How long do I have to decide?" he asked.

Briseis shrugged. "It's hard to say. Pyrrhus' troops won't be here for at least half a year, assuming no difficulties fall across their path."

Dane turned sharp eyes on her. "Were you followed here?" he asked.

"No," she reassured him. "No. I told Pyrrhus I was returning to my people. He seemed glad to see me go. Eudorus had been injured, and at my request the healer held out little hope for him contributing to a battle ever again. I was granted him and another man to escort me home."

Danen sighed wearily. He would need time to think on the matter.

"We have chores to do, Patroclus," he said at last.

Leda slipped from his lap, allowing him to stand. He left the house with his cousin, needing the time to think.

* * *

"My father was a great warrior," Danen began, staring down at his open palms. He sat on a log some distance from the house at dusk, speaking to his wife and her sister who sat below him on a blanket. Patroclus stood nearby. "His name was Achilles, and when his father died he became lord of the city of Pthia, and the region surrounding it. His mother was said to be a goddess prophet, and this more than anything earned him the loosely held title of 'prince.' He died in the war at Troy."

His audience remained perfectly silent; after a great sigh, Dane continued with his explanation of who he'd been, and how he and Patroclus had come to Ithaca.

"Achilles had a penchant for bedding young women. In Lycomedes, he caught the fancy of the king's daughter, and they conceived a son named Pyrrhus. Achilles never claimed his first son, using his youth as an excuse to escape responsibility. Not long after Pyrrhus' birth, my father took a young servant girl to his bed in Pthia. She bore me not long after the death of my grandfather.

"I don't know what exactly transpired after the event of my birth, but it would seem my grandmother decided to send my mother away and raise me as Achilles' younger brother. I lived that lie until Pyrrhus came to Pthia to claim lordship of my house. Once I learned the truth of my parentage, I stepped aside and allowed my older brother to lay claim to Pthia. I traveled here with Patroclus to ask prince Telemachus for sanctuary, and here we have remained. If Pyrrhus finds me, he'll put my head on the wall over his fireplace as a trophy, and slaughter the rest of you."

Cybele bowed her head, closing her eyes. Leda held one of her older sister's hands, and Dane saw their grip on each other tighten.

Bela raised her head and spoke softly, "Your only options are to run, or fight your brother?"

"So it would seem," Patroclus answered. "Whatever he does, I go at his side. Remember that, Cybele, before you begin to assume his plight isn't ours as well."

"I have my sister to consider, Patroclus," Bela replied, her sharp eyes shooting daggers in her husband's direction.

Leda pulled her hand free from her sister's grasp. "Don't talk over my head like I'm a child," she whispered harshly, looking away so they might not see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Dane sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck, and leaning on his knee with one elbow. He'd never meant to disappoint them. None of them knew how lost he felt. Achilles might've known what to do. Dane had no idea.

"I've decided to leave tomorrow for Ithaca's palace with Briseis," he said at last. "I will consult with Telemachus, warn him of the coming storm, and perhaps find an alternative."

Leda awkwardly got to her feet, and began to walk away from them. Dane's dark eyes followed her. He didn't know if she desired privacy or comfort, but he felt the urge to go after her.

"Go on," Cybele said softly.

He glanced at her, not immediately catching her meaning.

His sister-in-law nodded in the direction of Leda's path. "Go. She'll want you to find her. Leda adores you. If you're half the man she dreams you are, you'll go comfort her now."

Dane rose, keeping his stride measured. It wouldn't due to run after her. Swift movements might spook her.

She'd gone to the stable. He found her stroking the nose of his horse, leaning against the stall door. She noticed his approach when the beast whinnied in greeting.

Dane patted the gelding's neck, pushing the horse's nose aside so he might see his wife's face in the fast-fading daylight.

"You were lord of a country," she said, wiping at her eyes. "You're the son of Achilles, and you didn't tell me."

"I was the bastard son of a warrior whose arrogance knew no bounds," he stated firmly, leaning against the stall while facing her. "I'm not Danen of Pthia anymore, Leda. I'm your husband. I'm the father of your child. Nothing will ever change that. I had no concept of my own identity until I left that life behind."

He reached out to touch her cheek, brushing her hair from her face. Her hand rose to squeeze his. She let him slowly wrap his arms around her, and hold her close to his chest.

"I swear to you I'll make this right," he promised softly. "I'll protect all of you from this, even if I have to go to Pthia and slaughter my brother in front of witnesses."

"Would you win if you fought?" she asked, a tear drop running down her cheek. "I don't wish to doubt you, but how long has it been since you last killed a man?"

Dane's eyes grew hard as he stared off in the direction of Pthia. "Too long," he stated with all the conviction he possessed.


	17. Teaching

"Protect them well, my friend," Patroclus said to Eudorus. "Cybele has a strong head, but don't take it to heart if she scolds you; and don't let Leda out of your sight. She's capable enough, but Dane might panic if finds her in any way marred upon his return," he said, chuckling and glancing in his cousin's direction.

Dane tightened the girth on his horse's saddle, not at all amused by his cousin's parting words to Eudorus.

The older man smiled grimly. "You shouldn't tease him, Patroclus. Fatherhood is always difficult, especially the first time. We should thank the gods our young prince has grown into a man at last."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dane asked, pausing in adjusting his saddle.

Patroclus nudged his shoulder in passing. "Don't take it to heart, cousin. It's a private joke shared by those who went to Troy. Eudorus often defended your honor when the men made fun of you in your absence. They didn't understand your dedication to your training, and many of them chose to believe you didn't have the nerve to bed a woman. Leda's pregnancy would seem to prove your doubters wrong."

Dane glared at his cousin over the back of his horse. "Who did you believe, cousin? Eudorus, or my legion of doubters?"

Patroclus grinned. "Honestly? I didn't know what to believe until you married. Even a blind man could see your wife finds satisfaction in your bed. Perhaps too much satisfaction, some nights. Cybele is nearly impossible to live with when her sister spends an entire morning glowing and humming, not getting a bit of work done."

Eudorus smiled. "If that's the truth, then we know for sure he inherited his father's energy. Achilles would battle all day long, and take two women to his bed at night while the rest of the men dropped to sleep the moment they laid down."

Danen only shook his head, finally mounting up. "I couldn't handle more than one woman, Eudorus. Even if I could lie around and do nothing all day but go to war and make love, I believe two would be far too many," he said, turning his horse's head so he could look down on his two companions.

The pale-eyed warrior nodded. "That, my boy, would be your mother talking—and truer words have never been spoken."

Dane bowed his head, thinking on that for a long moment. Had Eudorus known his mother? Perhaps he would ask when they returned from their journey. He glanced up, and on horseback he could see the women approaching from the house. Leda and Cybele with food for their saddle bags, and Briseis with Aetos, ready to ride with them.

Danen slid to the ground when they approached, leading his horse by a single rein while extending his arms for the embrace he knew Leda would demand of him. His wife wrapped both arms around his chest, squeezing him tight.

"Be careful," she whispered, sighing against his shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to go. Can't you stay with me?"

Dane smiled, lovingly brushing her hair back from her face. "I won't stay away for long. A few days at most. Don't worry, and don't exert yourself. If you need anything done, ask Eudorus to do it for you."

Leda pretended to scowl. "All right," she agreed after catching his stern look. "But only for you, Love. I suppose it wouldn't do for me to worry myself into early labor, and strip you of the privilege of seeing your child born."

Dane kissed her forehead and squeezed her gently in his arms before releasing her. Not yet leaving her side, he leaned over to whisper something in her ear that earned him a playful smack from his wife. His smile turned boyishly wicked when he noticed her faint blush, and then he remounted his horse, wheeling around to ride in the direction of Telemanchus' palace, Patroclus and Briseis following along behind him. At the top of the next hill they paused, turning to wave good-bye one last time before riding out of sight.

* * *

Aetos rode double with Briseis. Danen couldn't help but let his attention rest on the golden haired boy Achilles had sired shortly before his death. For so long he'd felt no attachment to the boy. At his birth, Aetos had been a nephew Dane felt obligated to shield from harm. Now the two of them were half brothers. The child Leda carried would call Aetos uncle, not cousin—and the two children would likely grow up together. 

Danen thought about that during the long afternoon ride, and in the evening when the four of them paused for the night near a stream and a patch of grazing ground. He thought on it still after dark, when they sat around their campfire after a meal of bread and dried meat.

Patroclus and Aetos wrestled a safe distance from the fire, but within the flickering light it cast. The two of them laughed, enjoying their game until they noticed Dane had risen from his seat, casting his long shadow over them.

Once their fun ceased, both of them looked up at him from their knees. Both man and boy appeared daunted, as though they wondered if they'd done something wrong.

Dane gazed on them calmly for a time before speaking, wishing to think on his words before casting them out carelessly. "I have been negligent," he began softly. "First with you, Patroclus, and since then with my little brother. When Achilles died, it fell to me to teach you both a great many things. It fell on me to protect you. Continuing to delay what should've been done long ago will improve nothing—so I shall begin tonight. Patroclus, take your sword and a torch. Cut straight branches for yourself and Aetos to use as staffs. I trust your judgment on heft and length."

Patroclus rose, taking several steps over to his pack and pulling a sword from among his things. He took a torch, and led Aetos off into the woods.

The crackling of the fire suddenly became the loudest noise in their camp. Danen turned from watching his cousin and brother go, facing his step-mother.

He couldn't help but notice the grim look on Briseis' face.

Dane raised one eyebrow at her. "You do not wish for me to teach him?" he asked, even though he'd already made up his mind. He would teach his brother the arts their father had used to make his living.

Briseis sighed, letting her jaw come to rest on one fist. "I don't suppose I'll get much say in the decision, will I? You've already adopted him as your own. I've seen you watching him when you think no one notices. Your own child will soon come into the world, and it's changed you. You've begun to see things as a father, not as a warrior would."

Danen's dark eyes became hard and distant in the firelight, his stare aimed at the impenetrable blackness beyond the reach of the dim light. "You should pray I'm a warrior still, Briseis. If I'm not, we may all lead very short lives from this time forward. It may come down to a fight between myself and my half brother. I do not like to think of what might happen if I lose."

His eyes flicked in her direction when he felt her small hand settle on his forearm, finding her sad eyes gazing at him mournfully. She'd risen from her seat to stand beside him. "I have faith in you, Danen," she said softly. "Even if you must despise Achilles for his deceptions, you do carry on his legacy—and you carry it well. I do not believe you are capable of losing to any enemy, little brother."

Danen turned his head away from her as Patroclus and Aetos came back into view. He took one of his wooden practice swords from his pack and used it to draw a large circle a short distance from the fire, directing his cousin and brother into the boundaries he'd created, instructing them on stance and foot placement.

Patroclus didn't interrupt as Dane taught Aetos a high block with his staff. His cousin obeyed orders like a good student, humbly placing himself on equal ground as the child training beside him. Soon Dane's students were exchanging light blows—Aetos would use his high block to defend himself, and return a strike aimed at Patroclus' side.

Danen drilled them for over an hour before allowing them to rest for the night. Neither boy nor man complained, although Patroclus did immediately drop to sleep when he laid down.

Before his mother ordered him off to bed, Aetos approached Danen beside the fire, and took a seat beside him, scooting close enough for his brother's large form to shield him from the night's gentle breeze, yet just far enough away so they didn't touch. For long moments the two of them sat in silence, each unsure how to go about connecting to the other.

At last Briseis stood, motioning for her son to join her in preparing for bed. Aetos reluctantly stood, at last turning to face his sibling and teacher.

"I don't know what to call you," the boy said softly. "Should I call you Master, like an apprentice would? Or should I call you Brother?"

"Call me what you will," Danen replied, packing fresh kindling into a box to keep it safe from the elements.

Dane looked up when he felt small fingers ghost just underneath his chin. The golden haired boy considered him deeply, looking up to the sky, and then back at him.

"You have dark features and a pale face. While you stand on Earth, the moon doesn't light the sky. I think you are the hunter of the night. You are a warrior like Orion, and I will call you Arion so all will know that."

Dane nodded, unsure of how long the child would insist on calling him by a made-up name, and too tired to care. "You'd best get to bed, Aetos," he said, glancing past the boy at his mother. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if I kept you up late."

Aetos gave a well-school nod of humble farewell worthy of a royal court. Briseis had taught the boy well in the art of respecting his elders. Dane hated to think it, but Aetos' careful manners had probably been necessary to keeping them both mother and son alive in Pyrrhus' presence.

The boy turned to walk to his mother, turning briefly to address Danen one last time. "I'm glad you are my brother, and my teacher, Arion."

Dane nodded gravely. "So am I," he replied.

Aetos smiled briefly, and Dane got the impression it was a rare expression for the boy. After his little brother turned away, Briseis briefly caught Danen's gaze, unshed tears making her eyes overly bright. She nodded to him deliberately, the expression on her face something akin to somber gratitude. Then she turned, following her son to prepare for sleep.


	18. The Hardest Lessons

They found Odysseus on the throne of Ithaca when they arrived at the palace. The King had endured a great odyssey on his return home that had delayed him many years. He welcomed the weary travelers and offered them safe haven for a night.

Odysseus summoned Danen after the morning meal the next day, and the two of them walked alone down the beach near the palace in order to keep their conversation private.

"Lady Briseis informed me your wife is expecting a child, Danen. Congratulations," Odysseus said, clearly using the news to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between the two men. "The last time I saw you..."

"I was but a child myself, my lord. That doesn't excuse me from the oath I swore to you," Dane replied coldly. "I can't walk back into Pthia and kill my half brother. It would be a fool's errand."

Odysseus nodded, his hands clasped loosely behind his back while he walked. "I understand your bitterness, Dane. I should never have meddled with your family. It seems Greece will suffer from Achilles' glorious death more than I ever could've imagined."

"So it would seem," Dane agreed sardonically. "I won't lie, Odysseus, I came here to find out your plans for war. I want to know if you plan to fight, or offer allegiance to my half brother."

Odysseus smiled a little. "You wish to know if I'll betray your family? Use you as a bargaining chip?"

Dane kicked a rock ahead of him down the beach, watching it skip over the rocky sand. "Wouldn't you do the same in my place?" he asked the king walking beside him.

Ithica's king sighed, casting his gaze out across the beach and the sea. "I would. I most definitely would. Rest assured, Danen, I have taken into account the debt I owe you. Your family will be safe within my boarders from betrayal. However, once war begins, I can guarantee safety to no man. Not even my own son."

Dane nodded. "I know," he replied. "Believe me, I know."

* * *

Danen left the king of Ithaca that afternoon, still questioning where his future would lead him. What course of action would best keep his family out of harm's way? He grew pensive during the journey home, although he didn't relent in training his cousin and half brother. Dane would direct the two of them from a distance at night, and then join in their drills, just as Achilles had when he taught Danen the arts of war. 

Patroclus had long since regained his full strength after his long illness, and somewhere along the line he'd become a fine warrior. Dane had never gone to war, so he had no idea how he or his student might fare, but he hoped they were ready. Just in case it came to that.

Danen expected to find relief in riding up the last hill beyond his home. The first glimpse of the small farm sent a jolt of exhilaration through him, but soon his spirits dampened. An odd stillness hung over the land in the late afternoon.

"Hup," Dane clucked to his horse, cantering down the small path toward the house, and leaving the rest of his small group behind.

Dane dismounted mid-stride when he saw the first blood slick on the grass, not fifty yards from the front door. He ran alongside his horse just long enough to draw his sword, and then ran forward.

"Leda! Cybele!" he called, rushing up to the front door and flinging it open.

The fire had been well stoked, keeping up a sweltering heat inside the house, in spite of the shade. Water boiled in a pot, and Eudorus lay on a mat, being attended to by Leda's brother.

When Eudorus caught sight of Danen, he reached out toward the younger man. "My lord, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I have failed you. I'm sorry."

Danen knelt beside him, wrapping one hand around Eudorus' outstretched wrist in a sign of friendship. "What happened, Eudorus? Whose blood is outside?"

Eudorus took a number of labored breaths before he could bring himself to speak. "The man who came here with me, my lord. I knew his father all my life. I thought I could trust him. I was wrong. I failed you. He helped men trail us here. Two other warriors. They came to kill you and your cousin. They meant to kill us all, but I managed to kill them first—with help from the women. One of them took Leda as a hostage. I'm sorry, my lord."

Danen's heart leapt into his throat. His eyes snapped up to the face of his brother-in-law. "Where is she?" he asked, the words coming out in a barely-suppressed growl.

"In your bedroom. Cybele and my wife are tending to her," the older man replied softly, wringing out a cloth to apply to one of Eudorus' many wounds.

Dane returned his attention to the man who'd nearly died protecting his family. "No more apologies," he whispered when Eudorus tried to speak again. "Rest up, friend. You've done well for me, and I'll never forget it."

Eudorus let his eyes fall shut, nodding. He squeezed Dane's arm tight before releasing it, allowing the young warrior to rise from his crouch.

Danen took several steps toward the bedroom he shared with his wife, trying to steel himself against what he might find there. He could hear blood roaring through his ears, and the blade of fear lancing through his chest. It might've made him feel better if he'd heard some noise coming from his bedroom—even screaming would've been preferable to the absolute silence.

Cybele exited the room as he approached, starting at the sight of him. Her front was a mess of red, and she held a bundle of bloody rags in her arms.

For a long moment the two of them stood still, staring at each other in horrified shock.

Dane might've never known if Cybele hadn't glanced down at the blankets in her arms with a shred of something resembling shame in her eyes. His blood ran cold and suddenly his whole body felt too heavy for his bones to support. Danen stumbled backward, half-sitting down on the table behind him.

Patroclus ran in the door, looking around, his sword also drawn. "Bela!" he cried upon seeing his wife unharmed.

Cybele rushed to her husband, allowing him to wrap her up with his free arm. She burst out crying, sobbing as though she hadn't yet had the opportunity to do so throughout the entire tragic event.

She soon calmed, and the two of them exchanged desperate whispers of explanation, and then they went quiet. It took a long time for Dane to realize they were staring at him, pity deeply etched in their gazes.

Danen turned just long enough to take them in, and then turned away, trying to keep his insides from leaving him.

Cybele took a deep, calming breath, and turned to go outside.

"No," Dane said. His voice was low and rough, but there was no mistaking the command in his tone. Cybele stopped, turning to look at him.

Danen forced his muscles to work together so he could straighten up to his full height, leaving the support of the table behind. He purposely put his sword down on the table, and approached Cybele with his head down. "I'll do it," he said, barely able to manage a whisper.

Cybele paused for a second, and then handed the small bundle she held over to him.

It was both the lightest and heaviest burden he'd ever carried. Danen went outside, skirting the house and walking to the small grove of trees where he and Leda used to have picnics sometimes.

He sat down with his back against the same tree he'd leaned against when she'd first told him, all those months ago.

It took a long time for Dane to bring himself to push the blanket aside and look. When he finally managed it, it felt like he died inside, just a little.

The child was tiny, but perfectly formed. If she'd had the opportunity to grow in her mother's belly for a few more short weeks, Danen would've held a healthy baby girl in his arms instead of a stillborn infant.

"I should've been here to protect you, and your mother," he whispered, brushing her tiny cheek with the tip of his finger. "I am your father, and if I live a thousand years, I'll never forgive myself for failing you."

He couldn't bring himself to cry over his daughter's body, but the pain he felt at her loss seared the depths of his soul. He'd had only one duty to perform, and he'd failed. Miserably.

Like father, like son.

* * *

Patroclus sat on the tree stump they used for cutting wood, waiting for him near the house. He rose when he saw Danen trudging down the path, his arms empty, shirt bloody. 

"Cybele sent me to tell you Leda's likely to live," he said, falling in step next to Dane. "The bleeding stopped, and the midwife said she'll heal with rest."

Danen didn't respond, didn't break from his determined gait. His eyes were bloodshot, and he felt dead inside. Completely dead.

Dane walked in the house, picking his sword up off the table and carrying it with him outside. He walked out to the pasture where his horse had begun to graze, still fully saddled.

Danen replaced his sword in its sheath, then vaulted onto the back of his horse, whirling the poor beast around on its haunches. His heels dug into the gelding's flanks, forcing the tired animal to gallop. However, he couldn't keep up a break-neck pace. After a half mile he slowed to a trot, knowing there was a great deal of ground to cover, and he'd never make it on foot if he ran his horse to death.

Hoof beats pounded the earth behind him, and Dane turned in his saddle, watching as Briseis rounded the bend on a fresh horse. She pulled up beside him, her eyes burning bright with fury.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

Dane turned to face forward, not even bothering to spare her a glance. "To war," he replied dully.

"Danen," she began.

"No!" he shouted, startling her. "No, you don't get to lecture me now!" Dane pushed his horse forward, whirling the bay around to face Briseis' mare, blocking their path. "You know better than anyone this is my destiny! I have run from it, I've been a coward, and you see what it cost me? Everything, Briseis. It's cost me everything!"

The dark-haired woman shook her head, her stern look turning to one of concern. "No, Danen, that's not true. Your wife still clings to life. She needs you. Your cousin needs you. My son needs you! You're running away to cast your life into oblivion, and what will it gain you?"

Danen tried to keep a hold on himself. He tried to shove down the torrent threatening to consume him, until it made him shaky and short of breath. He bowed his head, trying to find a calm place inside himself, and only finding more anger, more pain. "I never understood," he said, his voice low. "I never understood what you told me about Achilles. How Troy was lucky it was Patroclus who died on Hector's blade, and not me. You said he wouldn't have stopped at taking Hector's life if I had met my end at Troy. You said he would've taken the entire city by the sword, and thousands upon thousands would've died. I didn't understand, until now. I didn't understand how he could've murdered Hector, an honorable man, and desecrated the body, until now. I am going to Pthia, Briseis. And before I'm finished there, the rivers and streams will flow red into the ocean with the blood from my sword."

He turned his horse, intent on following his chosen path to war. Dane didn't expect her to try to stop him again.

"Danen!" she called. He didn't turn, and she shouted after him again. "Danen of Pthia, you selfish brute! You didn't lose that child from your body!" she screamed at his retreating back.

Dane's horse stopped in its tracks when his whole body stiffened at her words.

"Cybele told me about the ordeal," Briseis continued. "She told me about the beating her little sister took when Leda tried to fight off the men who wanted to violate her. She told me about the labor Leda endured from yesterday at dawn until mid-afternoon today, and how the poor girl kept calling for you, too fevered and weak to know why you didn't come to her side. Leda has already fought for your child's life, and lost. Do you think she'll survive it if she wakes up and finds you've left her? She'll think you've cast her aside, believing she's unclean, and unfit. You know as well as I do what those men probably did to her!"

Dane hadn't thought about that possibility, but the moment Briseis planted the idea in his head, his memory rushed back to the first time he'd made love to Leda. He'd been gentle, and she'd still suffered. He could only imagine the damage a man could do to her if he didn't love her, didn't worry about harming her, or the child she carried.

Danen let out a long, shuddering breath. All at once he felt his rage dissipate into a deep despair.

He swore Pthia would burn to the ground. It just might have to wait a little longer. 


	19. Holding On

Leda's father tactfully left the sickroom when Dane entered, getting up from the chair beside the bed where his daughter slept fitfully. Once his father-in-law had gone, Dane approached his bed, dismayed by the sight before him.

They'd covered his wife with blankets—keeping her so warm she'd begun to sweat. Her pretty features had faded under bruises and sallow skin. She appeared close to death.

Dane sat down beside her, and the shift woke her from a restless sleep. She gasped at the sight of him, and then crumbled, curling up into herself and sobbing.

Leda tried to pull away when he laid a hand on her forehead, but she was too weak. She looked so small and young, laying there. If he thought it was safe, Dane would've scooped her up, blankets and all into his arms, and held her until it healed her.

He removed his heavier travel clothes, and laid down beside her, pushing down some of the blankets so she could cool off. Her temperature was high, and he didn't believe warming her to excess would help.

"I lost her. I lost her," Leda repeated over and over. She apologized profusely to him, but Danen said nothing. He simply let her lie close to him, one arm slung loosely over her broken body.

"Please, forgive me, Danen," she cried into his chest, squeezing two weak handfuls of his shirt.

"I love you," he promised softly, running his fingers through her hair. "I love you, and I always will. Nothing will ever change that."

Danen repeated the words over and over, whispering them even after Leda cried herself to sleep in his arms. He would always love her, even when he went to avenge the things those men had done to her. Even if he had to die avenging their daughter.

"I brought this upon you," he whispered hoarsely, softly kissing her forehead. "Please, Leda. Forgive me. Forgive me for not ending this sooner."

* * *

Tears flowed freely down Leda's partially-healed face. The wind whipped her hair around her head, and her dark eyes remained dull—dead. 

Danen shifted uncomfortably behind her. He stood a few paces away, watching her kneel beside their daughter's grave. He worried that it was too cold for her to be outside. Leda's fever had only broken a few short days before, and her injuries were still so severe, she struggled to walk on her own. Those men had literally beaten her until she miscarried, and the mid-wife had warned them all to watch for bleeding while she healed.

When silent tears became full-blown sobs, Dane slowly approached her, kneeling down beside her so he could wrap her up in his arms.

"How can you forgive me?" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I let them take her from us. I didn't stop them, Danen. I tried to fight them..."

Dane hugged her tight, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know you fought. I've seen the wounds on your hands and arms. You were very brave," he told her softly, letting his fingers stroke through her hair. "You can't be faulted for having a fool for a husband. My only purpose in this world was to stay by your side and protect you. I failed at that, but I promise I won't fail again."

A tiny shutter passed through her body, and she clung to him even tighter. "You're leaving me, aren't you?" she whispered. "You're leaving, and I'll probably never see you again."

Dane let his eyes fall shut. "No, probably not," he said softly. "I will likely die at Pthia—but I must go. Or else there will be many, many more sons and daughters buried by their parents, and their deaths will be on my head."

Leda shook her head, her small hand cupping his cheek so he had to meet her gaze. "No, Danen. They won't. Stay with me. That is—if you'll still have me."

Danen sighed, holding her close. "I want to be with you forever, Le. I just—I don't want to see you hurt again. I don't want to watch you die, and Pyrrhus would make me watch while he tortured you, before he ended my suffering. I doubt he'll forget about me. If I don't go to him, he'll come for me again. This time with more than a few men."

Leda bowed her head, and two more silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She took a deep breath and nodded her understanding.

Dane had never doubted that his wife cared deeply for him, and in that moment he saw clearly just how deep her love ran. She didn't understand what drove him. She didn't understand why they couldn't run away together and make a new life for themselves somewhere safe. She didn't understand, but because she loved him, she tried.

"There will never be another woman for me," he said softly, whispering into her hair as he held her tight. "If by some miracle I survive this, I will come back to you. I swear."

She nodded in response, trying bravely to stifle her sobs against his shoulder. Leda reached around his neck with both arms, pulling him even closer.

It would be terrible to go without her, even knowing she would live.

But it would be far worse to wait for the wolves to close in, and know that he'd doomed her to death. 


	20. The Epic of Achilles

It had been a long journey. He'd traveled hard, covering the distance alone.

Patroclus had been quite unhappy to stay behind. So unhappy, Dane wondered if his cousin would ever forgive him. For all that Patroclus understood about being a soldier, his perspective of duty was slanted in Achilles' image. He believed all good soldiers died in battle, and the rest were cowards. He didn't understand that sometimes soldiers had to stay behind, and protect the things of value held by the men on the front lines.

Danen could rest easy knowing his family would be safe. Once Leda could travel, they would go with Briseis and Eudorus to find the Trojans who'd survived.

As Danen approached his childhood home, he realized he found no comfort in the familiar sights and sounds. He couldn't imagine feeling welcome within the cold walls of the palace overlooking the sea. If he could've chosen a place to die, it would've been far from Pthia.

Dane went first to the temple of Aries, and bowed before a statue of the God of War. He spoke with the priests there, and told them he'd come to challenge his half brother to mortal combat. He expected unnecessary pageantry and rituals that would last for days, and although he would find them bothersome, he hoped this would prove the shortest path to that which he desired. A fair fight between himself and Pyrrhus. Not even a King could deny a challenge approved by the priests of Aries.

Danen expected the priests would tell him to wait, to have patience. He did not expect them to take him directly to the court where he'd served as a young man.

The head priest walked ahead of him through the doors of the chamber, and the people within immediately stilled.

Danen stepped up just behind the head priest, hands folded in front of him, ready to draw his sword at will.

"My Lord," the priest said, addressing Pyrrhus. "You have been challenged by your half brother, Danen of Pthia, to fight to your death."

Pyrrhus lounged in the high throne, and smiled graciously down upon them. "I hate to contradict a man of your stature, Priest, but my little brother swore an oath to never draw blade in confrontation or war. He cannot challenge me now, or ever."

The priest turned a wary eye onto Dane. "Is that true, my boy?" he asked, and in his eyes, Danen could see something akin to pleading.

Pyrrhus did not find favor among the temples, then.

Danen shifted his attention to his brother, stepping forward. "Pyrrhus, I challenge you to battle on behalf of another you wronged."

The golden haired man laughed, clearly amused by Danen's declaration. "Oh, really? Still fighting Patrocles' battles for him, then? What a surprise. Of the two of you, I always knew you were the one who should've died at our father's side. You should know, little brother, you cannot fight on behalf of another while they still live."

Danen stepped forward, his focus centering on his target. "No, not on behalf of any living man. On behalf of Kaia, daughter of Danen of Pthia. Your men murdered my child before she ever took her first breath, and the price of my vengeance will be paid in your blood, Pyrrhus!"

The priest nodded, turning back toward the throne. "The challenge will be accepted," he decreed. "The contestants will fight at dawn."

* * *

Danen didn't sleep all night. He practiced his fighting patterns and played through a thousand scenarios in his mind.

As the stars faded from the sky, Dane wandered among the rocks where Achilles trained him—feeling the cool breeze coming in off the ocean and hearing the waves crashing against the cliffs.

He thought of Leda, and Kaia. Danen smiled sadly as he thought of the future the three of them might've had together. He would've enjoyed showing his wife and daughter the place where he'd grown up. Kaia could've played in the gardens, and Leda would've had handmaidens to tend to the household chores so she could write down her stories. Dane smiled. He knew his wife would hate being cared for—but he would've liked to provide her with help so she could relax, especially if she became pregnant again.

Dane's smile faded, and he took a deep breath. He wondered if Le would find another man if he didn't return to her.

"Be well, my love. Be well," Danen said to fading night sky.

Dane hoped she would find a good man. Someone who would love her as he had. Patroclus would make sure no one ever mistreated her—Dane knew that.

* * *

Danen stood alone on his side of the ring, waiting for his half brother. When Pyrrhus came down the hill from the palace, the entire court came with him. Men surrounded the bare, dusty arena in a circle four to five rings deep and yet Danen still stood alone.

The priests made their way to the front of the crowd, and began to proctor the challenge. They explained the rules.

Danen half listened, too busy staring across the ring at his half-brother—the man he planned to kill very soon.

When silence covered the crowd, Danen looked around, confused.

"My Lord, will you name a proxy to fight in your stead?" the priest asked, and Danen got the impression that he'd been asked this question at least once already.

"No," Dane said firmly. "I will fight for my daughter's honor."

The priest turned to Pyrrhus. "My Lord, will you name a proxy?"

Pyrrhus smiled, sickly sweet. "Why yes, I will," he said. Then he waved his hand, and a tall man came forward wearing a cloak with a deep hood. "This man will fight in my stead."

Dane's eyes narrowed, and his heartbeat sped up in alarm.

The hood slid back, and the unnamed warrior revealed himself.

Under the dirty blond locks streaked with grey and the scars of war, Danen recognized the grim, haggard face of his opponent.

Achilles.

Danen would do battle with Achilles.


	21. Claiming

Dane returned to his corner, deeply shaken by the presence of Achilles. All the questions he wanted to ask flew through his mind. What happened? Where did Achilles go all these years? Did he regret never claiming Danen as a son?

His hands shook as he gathered up his sword belt and strapped it on. Achilles was alive, and now Dane would have to kill him or die. To avenge his daughter, he'd have to kill his father.

Dane picked up his helmet--specially carved in metal by the same smith who'd made Achilles' armor. He took a breath, looking at intricate trim on the helmet face made from tiny gold weaving over the polished iron beneath. Without permission from his mind, his heart chose for him. It weighed the lives of Kaia and Achilles, measuring the hurt of both losses. Yes, it hurt to lose his brother Achilles--but Achilles never wanted him. Achilles threw both of their lives away.

Kaia never drew her first breath. She never laid eyes on the parents who loved her and wanted her. She never lived.

Danen put on his helmet, picking up his shield and spear. His decision was made.

When he turned, he found the arena cleared, and Achilles waiting for him.

Dane stepped forward into the arena. The moment he entered, combat began. He held his spear ready and his shield so the bottom rested against his thigh, the top tilted away from his face. Often two warriors would feel each other out before attacking hard. Until then, he'd conserve the strength in his shield arm.

How many years had it been since he'd sparred with Achilles? Ten? Fifteen since they sparred regularly? Dane never won, but back then he'd been a boy. Achilles still stood taller than him, but Danen had grown outward, becoming a mountain of muscle suited to slave labor, or to being a warrior. His arm had swung a hammer thousands of times working with the smith. When he swung a sword, even Achilles would feel the weight of the blow on his shield.

Even before entering the ring, Dane knew the fight would come down to swordsmanship. There was no way Achilles would throw himself onto a spear, and Danen had no intention of dying on one either. His best hope was to break his father's shield with his throw. Crack the iron circle and make Achilles vulnerable to the hard blows Dane would rain down with his sword.

Rolling his spear slowly in his right hand, poised to throw, Danen circled his opponent slowly. Too many great warriors charged Achilles, relying on their strength to carry them. In turn, Achilles waited for them to come, using his speed and experience to find just the right place to strike. Dane would wait for an opening. He'd come all this way, he could wait a little longer to claim the head of his half brother. Pyrrhus probably thought he would balk at the prospect of killing their father. On the contrary, any man who stood in Danen's way would forfeit their life.

Achilles kept his distance. He'd shrugged off his robe when collecting his gear, and to Danen's eye he appeared more wiry than the man who'd left for Troy. His blows would have less sting, but his speed may have increased. His practiced eye took Danen in, measuring him, identifying his weaknesses.

So many times, Dane had seen Achilles measure up other warriors and find them wanting. He wondered what his father saw in him. The two of them continued to circle. Slow, careful steps to the side. A delicate dance. Any sudden move would tip the scales.

"Did my mother die in childbirth?" Dane asked suddenly. He had a well of confused feelings boiling over inside of him. Why not share the pain of the past with his father?

Achilles didn't respond. His eyes betrayed nothing. They stared out at Dane from inside that helmet, cold and unfeeling.

"Secrets never became you. You never would've claimed responsibility for me, but when I showed promise on the battlefield, I'll bet you wanted the world to know my sire was Achilles, consequences be damned." Dane had never spoken during battle before, but the words came and they wouldn't stop. "I wonder if you ever fought with your mother when she tried to turn me into a priest. She sent you off to die at Troy, and it killed her."

Achilles loosed his spear, rifling it with the ease of a lifetime of practice. Without time to think, Dane's reflexes held him solidly behind his shield, but the impact made his shield arm go numb and nearly put him on his knees. The spear hit too hard--it punctured a hole instead of cracking the iron of Dane's shield, and all the while Achilles advanced on him with drawn sword, seeking to get inside the range of Dane's spear and kill him. The crowd cheered. The men surrounding them belonged to Pyrrhus, and they cheered his proxy on to victory just like they would've cheered for their lord.

Danen almost didn't recover in time. He could barely feel his left arm, and holding it up with the added weight of Achilles' spear nearly forced his shield down. With his opponent charging, Dane stabbed viciously with his spear tip. Achilles easily ducked and dodged each attempt, but the flurry kept him at bay long enough for the strength to start returning on Dane's left side. Again, the two warriors circled, sizing each other up.

"Why would you fight for him?" Dane asked. "Wasn't I loyal enough? Didn't I worship you enough? I left here in peace and my brother sent one of your men to kill me and my family. You desired glory, and I desire vengeance. Do I have less of a right to claim it?"

Achilles again moved forward, attempting to sweep Dane's spear aside with his sword, but Dane circled back, keeping his spear mobile and loose--ready to strike at any gap. Achilles began to circle, this time in the other direction.

"They raped my wife, and beat her until she lost my child, Achilles! Your grandchild! I protected Briseis and the son she bore you. I selflessly elevated them to power in Pthia. Stand aside and let me kill him!"

Achilles charged again, and this time Dane saw his opening. When Achilles attempted to sweep Dane's spear aside, his sword found air, and Danen's spear found his father's shield. The blow was devastating. The entirety of Dane's mass came down through his spear, causing the shield to crack but not buckle.

Achilles slammed into Danen, his sword wrapping around, seeking to draw blood from his exposed back. The men surrounding them whooped and yelled. Disengaging from the collision, Dane drew his sword, using it to break Achilles' spear from where it still held firm in his shield. It took several seconds for a wet stinging sensation to draw Dane's attention to the join between his neck and left shoulder. He'd lost first blood.

It didn't feel too deep, but his already abused shield arm had begun to stiffen, resisting even the smallest of movements.

Achilles gave him only seconds of respite to recover before engaging him again. His sword fell like a hammer on Danen's shield. Dane gave back as good as he got, exchanging several blows with Achilles, never finding an opening. Achilles drew back after the exchange, skirting to Dane's shield side. Dane turned in place, quickly tiring. It was all he could do to keep his left arm up, and his right wanted badly to work on buckling his father's shield. A few more solid hits and it would go--years of smithing made Dane sure of this.

Then, he'd kill Achilles.

Striking faster than a viper, Achilles feinted a blow to Dane's left side. He overcompensated, and next he knew, Achilles had winged his right elbow where it was exposed. Nearly dropping his sword, Dane was slow to respond, but quicker than his father expected. Before Achilles got out of range, Dane brought his sword crashing down, breaking his father's shield. A few of the men who'd yelled for his blood just seconds before cheered for Danen's success, impressed by his strength and conviction. Few men stood up to Achilles in battle and lasted this long.

Struggling to free himself from the remaining piece of metal on his arm, Achilles nearly went down when Dane charged. He faded back just quickly enough for Dane to lose his balance, and then it was over.

Danen felt the white heat across his shoulder blades--this time too deep to ignore. After falling to his knees, a blow to the back of the head finished him. Dane still had his sword and shield, but the strike across his back prevented him from using them. His head reeled, the metal of his helmet had cut to the bone and probably cracked the skull.

The world spun, and no matter how he tried to right it, it continued to whirl. Achilles turned him over, and his father hovered over him, his hair lit a brilliant gold in the morning sunlight. Releasing his weapons, Dane grabbed his father's armor at the neck, pulling him down but lacking the strength to fight him. Achilles had a dagger tip under Dane's jaw. Soon he'd be dead.

Everything lost. Saving Leda, Patrocles, and Cybelle. He'd failed Aetos and Briseis. Failed to avenge Kaia.

"She would've been beautiful," Dane whispered, his death grip quickly becoming an anchoring point. "My daughter. She would've had your golden hair, Ilios."

Achilles said nothing, unmoved by the sentiment. His features remained smooth. Age had crept into the corners of his eyes and a few strands of his hair, but the impeccable shape he kept his body in belayed any other signs.

"I understand now, why men choose to believe in gods," Dane continued. "I didn't protect my daughter in this life." Burning tears threatened to fill his eyes, but he held them off, keeping his voice low but steady. "It breaks my heart to think I won't get to tell her I'm sorry in the next one."

Achilles let the dagger slip away, holding Danen's upper body off the ground, keeping his weight off the wound stretching across his back.

"Achilles, kill him. Kill my challenger," Pyrrhus ordered.

Achilles turned those cold blue eyes onto his oldest son. "No, Pyrrhus. You refused to do battle against him. He's mine to kill or conquer, and I choose to claim his life. He will serve me. He has no grounds to challenge you anymore."

"Do as he says," Dane insisted harshly. "I've failed! Kill me!"

"No," Achilles said with finality. "No, you are mine now. My fallen opponent."

Dane's eyes fell shut. Everything inside him squeezed tighter and tighter until the pain became unbearable.

"My brother. My son."

The breath Dane had been holding slid away from him, and he opened his eyes, looking up at his father. Achilles had claimed him. He was a rejected servant's son no more. Until it lifted, Dane hadn't realized how heavily the weight of that rejection had hung on his heart. The oath he made to Odysseus in the garden all those years ago never held him back from fighting his brother. It was the shame of his father's rejection that had held him down, drowning him, forcing him to run instead of fight. Pyrrhus and Aetos came from royalty. Dane was born from a servant girl. Perhaps that had been the difference, the reason why Achilles chose to never accept him.

"Perhaps, growing up, I placed more value in gaining a brother than a son. Nevertheless, I still firmly believe, as I always have," Achilles said, his voice low so only Dane could hear, "that one day kings will kneel before the boy I named: Danen of Pthia."


	22. A mother's healing touch

_AN: If it were up to me, I'd stay home all day from work and write. That way my fics would get more love than this one has gotten. If anyone is still reading this, I commend you for your dedication ;)  
_

* * *

_Danen felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though he couldn't take one more step._

"Where are we going?" he gasped, dilirious, sweating from the effort of walking even with assistance from Achilles. He felt weak, feverish and not entirely able to interpret his surroundings or the reason for navigating this narrow winding limestone corridor beneath the palace.

Searing pain from the gaping wound across his back washed his mind clean of all thoughts but one: the memory of his daughter. Dane could hardly remember where he was or the identity of the man half-carrying him, and yet the image of his dead child wrapped in bloody rags remained firmly planted in his mind's eye.

Achilles held a torch to light their way, his back bent so Danen could sling an arm across his shoulders. It seemed like an eternity before he answered the question.

"We are leaving the palace," his father replied evenly.

Danen struggled with each breath. His head throbbed, and the pain in his back would've set him on his knees if he'd been walking alone, but Achilles wouldn't let him stop.

"I can't keep going," Dane panted. "Please, leave me here."

The closeness of the tunnel magnified Dane's ragged breathing and the sounds of flickering torchlight and the scraping of their shoes against the sandy floor while they inched slowly forward. The darkness yielded ahead of the their light only to sweep back in immediately behind them.

Achilles had taken Dane back to his rooms after their fight and let him rest fitfully on a cot until darkness took a firm hold over Pthia. Then, inexplicably, Achilles had ordered him to rise and begin this mysterious and arduous journey down hidden passageways Dane never even knew existed within the palace.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Danen asked, hardly able to hold up his head. His chin kept dropping toward his chest. With each step a whip of fire cracked across his backside.

"Believe it or not," Achilles said. "I do know my sons. And I know if I don't take you from this place, Pyrrhus will have you murdered in your sleep."

Danen had no grounds to doubt the truth of his father's words. Unfortunately his older brother wasn't a fool. Years ago he knew Danen's honor would force him to flee Pthia. But no power on earth would stop Danen from slaying the man who'd loosened feral dogs on his family. The honor he'd held so dear as a boy carried no weight against his desire for vengence as a man.

If nothing else, Pyrrhus understood the ugly base desires of men.

"It was unwise for you to come here," Achilles said after a time. It was the first words the older man had uttered unprompted since Dane's defeat in the arena.

Dane's mouth firmed. He still hadn't recovered from the shock of seeing his father, or finally being claimed as a son of Achilles, but that didn't entirely dissolve the hate that had festered in his heart since he'd discovered his sire's true identity, a hate that flared fresh when Achilles decided to serve as Pyrrhus's proxy in battle.

He couldn't manage the words, but Achilles did know him. The hard expression on his face, the anger burning in his dark eyes. If Achilles had stepped aside and let Danen kill his brother, none of this would've happened.

"The time for killing him was years ago, when he first came to Pthia," Achilles informed him. "When you still held the loyalty of the men and they thought you strong. When you ran, you gave up the opportunity to end this fued swiftly. If I had let you kill him, you still would've perished. You wouldn't know which of the men belonged to you, and which were plotting your demise."

"It's worth dying for," Dane whispered. He'd thought on this a great deal. Wouldn't it be better to give up his life in this effort than to return to Leda with nothing to offer her but the news of avenging their daughter's death? They would still have to run the rest of their lives. Perhaps his sacrifice would free them. Without him, Leda, Cybel and Patrocles were no threat to his half brother, or any of his followers left alive after Dane finished with him.

The torch began to die down, sputtering. Achilles stopped, lowering Dane to the ground and kneeling beside him, tending to the torch so it wouldn't go out.

"Throwing your life away won't bring back your child," the golden-haired warrior said while he worked.

Dane laid down on his side, doing his best to breathe through the pain. Slowly, he moved up onto his elbow, holding up his two powerful hands. They were the hands of a blacksmith and a fighter with well-muscled palms and calloused fingers. "I would throw my life away for the chance to hold my living daughter for a single moment. You threw your life away for glory, Ilios. My daughter was my glory."

Achilles said no more. He finished with the torch, and then hauled Dane back onto his feet. Together, the two men continued down the narrow hall one step at a time.

Achilles never said where they were going.

* * *

_A woman with graying dark hair opened the cottage door. She took one look at Dane and motioned them inside._

"Come in, lay him down before he falls down."

Achilles helped Danen over to a low cot taking up one entire wall of the small dwelling. It felt like they'd travelled a hundred miles, but this cottage probably sat less than two miles from the palace, just out of sight down the coast, hidden by the high bluffs.

Laying on his stomach, Dane watched the woman approach with a wooden bowl half full of warm water taken from a boiling pot over the fireplace and a clean cloth. She took a seat next to him on the cot, setting down the bowl on a low table so she could begin to remove his soiled bandages.

Danen couldn't remember a time in his life he'd felt so thirsty, but after the exhertion of the journey he couldn't manage a whisper to ask for water. His breath hissed through his teeth whille she gently pulled the bandages away from his wounds.

"How came you upon this one, Achilles?" the woman asked, walking a fine line between cheerfulness and scolding. "Another of your precious young warriors vying to challenge your skill?"

Achilles sat on a chair by the fire, stoking it to a high roar. Pushing the logs around with an iron poker, Achilles kept his thoughts to himself.

Danen tried to focus his mind away from his pain, but in the end it was easier to just wallow in it. The nature of the wound, stretched across his back, made it impossible to move without inspiring irritation.

"This is deep," the woman said, taking a moment to examine the task set before her. "It will need to be closed when it is clean."

Dane knew what that meant, and he had to work to control his breathing and his panic.

Having his back washed felt like throwing water on a grease fire, spreading the flames instead of quelling them. Dane gritted his teeth, his fingertips digging into the thin straw mattress.

When the wound was clean, Achilles used leather thongs to tie Danen's wrists and ankles securely to the legs of the cot and then he knelt on Dane's neck to keep him still while the woman applied a glowing-hot iron to his backside.

Danen didn't yell or cry out. He screamed. Even with a leather strap to bite down on, cutting into the corners of his mouth, he screamed through gritted teeth. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his bindings bit into flesh when he flailed against them. Each touch of the iron hit him like a lightning strike, sparking his nerve endings and causing him to thrash involuntarily. The acrid smell of his own burning flesh assaulted his senses.

Did this suffering bring him anywhere close to the trial Leda endured in her long, fruitless hours of labor?

Even after the iron came to rest by the fire, tears and whimpers that hadn't escaped him since very early in childhood continued to slip out in spite of his best efforts to remain silent and stoic. When it was over he came back to himself in small parts. The woman was cleaning the blood from his hair and his bindings at wrist and ankle had been removed. In the distance, he became aware of the soft conversation floating over his head.

"Seems you're growing these warriors bigger every year. I feel sorry for the poor woman who birthed this giant," she chuckled, soft and low.

Seated on a low chair, Achilles mused over her words, one hand over his mouth. "So it is an old wive's tale that a mother seperated from her child at birth may know him forever. I remember well the night you bore that giant, Canace. Interesting that you do not recognize him as your own."

The fingers moving through his hair paused for just a moment before continuing, a bit more hesitant than before.

"I always wondered," she opined. "Did you name our son, or did you leave that to your mother as well, Achilles?"

His father didn't rise to the barb. "I chose his name. I chose many things for him, most he was unaware of."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And what sort of man is he?"

"Stronger than Hephaestus and more honorable than any man I've ever known. He would rather break his back as a free man than have all the riches in Greece. He would rather plant a field than do battle on one. His wife can attest that his vow is his bond, and once given he looks neither to the right nor to the left. He is devoted to her, and to her alone. Just a few short months ago she was beaten and nearly killed; the child she carried was stillborn and his grief over this event nearly led him to a bloody end."

Tears continued to course down Danen's cheeks, silent now. The fire on backside had died down, but he still felt like a ship smashed against the cliffs of Pthia, the crashing waves inundating him over and over again, leaving no hope of ever casting off the rocks and sailing happily in calm seas again.

Achilles pressed on, as though unaware Danen could hear him. Using the same iron he'd used to tend the fire earlier, he drew on the dirt floor of the hut. "I would guess that he has great experience with being relied upon, but absolutely no knowlege of being wanted. For many years he believed himself a peseant bastard rejected by his father."

"And what will you do with him, now that he knows both his sire and his dam?"

"Now," Achilles said. "Now that he has given himself over to the sword, I believe I will train him. The time has come for the second son of Achilles to make his name at war."


End file.
